


Soul and Shield

by rannadylin



Series: Watcher Violet [4]
Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Animancy, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Drama, Loss of Parent(s), Magic, Missing Persons, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, ancient engwithan technology, and also some of the coatl clan, and lenneth but not as a watcher, betrothal, engwithans, eothas - Freeform, ixamitl plains, orlans, the whole itzli clan this time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-04-04 11:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 95,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rannadylin/pseuds/rannadylin
Summary: Just months after her family came to visit Caed Nua, Watcher Violet is summoned home to the Ixamitl Plains for a family emergency. Meanwhile, Lenneth, an elf drifting through the Plains, stumbles onto a Leaden Key plot when the mysterious Grigor goes missing. Mysteries, adventure, romance, an inconvenient betrothal contract, a controversial suitor, a parent's last days, and the secrets that lie beneath the orlan city of Citlatl...it's a lot for one Watcher to handle, but fortunately Violet has plenty of siblings and friends to help!





	1. Home from the Hunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bazylia_de_Grean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bazylia_de_Grean/gifts).



> At long last, the sequel to Clan and Court! (The one I've been referring to as "CSI: Citlatl" on tumblr, and for which I've finally - I think - settled on a real title.) I've written about seven chapters while trying to decide on that title, but there's much more to come; there's enough plot outlined for at least a novella at this rate. I'll post a chapter every few days to start and see if I can keep up with that pace as the writing continues.
> 
> If you haven't read Clan and Court yet, I'd advise doing that first for the sake of the returning characters from the Itzli and Coatl clans who were introduced there. And now, on with the show!

_ ‘Tis too quiet, _ Iselmyr complained.

“A little peace and quiet will do us good,” Aloth countered. And it wasn’t like the keep was abandoned. He nodded to an orlan in travel gear quietly departing through Caed Nua’s gate just as Aloth was entering, as if to point out to Iselmyr that the grounds were by no means empty. But his restless soul-passenger had a point: Caed Nua was usually much livelier than this, busy with the doings of the realm that his friend Violet oversaw, even if peace and quiet were generally as much to the Watcher’s liking as to his. The hired help and mercenaries who kept an eye out for trouble around the fortress went about their business today looking more subdued than usual. Perhaps Aloth had just been away too long, remembering a bustling Caed Nua in the early days of Violet’s governance, when everywhere you looked something was being loudly renovated. Perhaps the Watcher’s day-to-day life had simply settled down. After months of adventuring on his own ( _ On **our** own, _ Iselmyr objected companionably), he looked forward to seeing his first real friend again and hoped Violet had indeed found peace here.

The guard at the door of the great hall nodded silently in recognition as Aloth passed through and approached the dais. The Steward’s throne was occupied, but he could not read the Watcher’s expression as she sat there, her head lowered, face obscured by her curls. Violet was not alone: four other orlans gathered around her. A girl with her fair hair in numerous thick braids was openly weeping; another golden-haired girl sat on the arm of the throne, linking her arm with Violet’s. On the other side, two males: the curly-haired lad rested one hand on Violet’s shoulder and the other in the fur of a black hound nearly as tall as the orlans. Lastly, a dark-haired orlan man stood a little apart, arms crossed, brows furrowed.

They all looked up at Aloth’s approaching footsteps, and he could see tears glistening in Violet’s eyes. But she brightened at the sight of him, and stood to greet him, brushing the tears from her cheeks as she smiled in welcome. She clasped his hands, whispering, “You’re back. You’re  _ alive _ . Oh, thank Eothas,” before reaching up to embrace him.

“I seem to have come at a bad time,” Aloth began, but Violet only squeezed him tighter, shaking her head against his chest.

“It’s never a bad time to see you here safe and sound,” she insisted, but not without a lingering sniffle. “I’m sure you must have some exciting stories to tell of your travels?”

Iselmyr was poised with half a dozen such stories, but Aloth bid her wait. “In time, certainly. Is...is everything all right?” he asked weakly, while Iselmyr mentally rolled her eyes because  _ obviously _ everything wasn’t.

Violet stepped back with a sigh. “Here, yes. We’ve just had some upsetting news from back home.” She glanced around at the other orlans. “Oh. I should introduce you. Everyone, this is Aloth Corfiser.”

“Guessed as much,” the girl sitting on the arm of the throne said with a smirk, standing to step forward and shake his hand. “I’m Audie. Good to see you’re still in one piece, Corfiser.”

“My sister,” Violet explained as Aloth raised an eyebrow at the girl’s grip and boldness.

“You...guessed my name?” he asked.

“Violet  _ has _ told us about her friends,” Audie said. “You’re an elf, you’re carrying a spellbook, that matches only one description.” Her tone softened as she linked arms again with Violet. “Welcome back. It’s good to have friends near at a time like this.”

He nodded, lost for words, as Violet beckoned the rest of the orlans closer. “Also my sister, Yolotli,” she indicated the girl with the braids, “and my brother, Xipil,” the boy with the dog. “They’re twins, though you might not realize it until they start finishing each other’s sentences. Well, when Lottie starts finishing Xipil’s sentences,” she said, confirmed by giggles and shrugs from the others. “And this is Anselm,” she nodded to the dark-haired male, “my Chief Investigator.”

“Also related?” Aloth asked, and a low round of chuckling amongst the orlans accompanied Violet’s answer.

“Some of my brothers are married to some of his sisters,” she said, grinning, “and that’s as related as we’ll ever be.”

“Right,” said Aloth, mildly confused. “Well, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances. Violet, if you don’t mind me prying, what’s this about upsetting news?”

Her smile fell. “A courier was just here, from the rest of the family, back in the Ixamitl Plains.” She paused, and then pressed on with a sigh, “Mother is ill.”

“For some time now, it seems,” added Yolotli.

“Uncle Patli has been tending her,” said Violet, “and thinks it won’t --” her voice caught in sniffles -- “she doesn’t have much time left.”

“So he sent word,” Audie finished, somber now. “Mother wants us home. To say our goodbyes.”

“Oh,” Aloth said, voice lowered in respect. “All of you, I presume?”

Violet nodded slowly. “We...we were just talking about what to do. It’s a long journey back to Citlatl, but the Steward can manage Caed Nua in my absence. I’ve been gone for five years....I can’t just stay away while she…”

“Of course you should go,” Aloth encouraged her. 

“Aloth,” she said, clasping his hand, “come with us, my friend.”

He frowned, glancing around at her assembled kin. “I...are you sure? If it’s a family matter, perhaps it’s best if I…”

“I haven’t seen you in months,” she reminded him, “and you’d be gone tracking down another Leaden Key cell by the time I get back from this trip. Well, I’m sure you could find a cell to hunt in Ixamitl as well as anywhere. And I want to hear your stories.”

He sighed, resigning himself to returning so soon to the road for his friend’s sake. “Then it would be my honor. We’ll be leaving soon?”

“Well…” Violet hesitated, her ears twitching.

“We can wait for Edér,” Audie spoke up, arms crossed.

“It’s four more days…” Violet said, looking down as she laced her fingers together. “Mother doesn’t have long.”

“He needs to go with us,” Audie persisted.

Anselm spoke up for the first time, “I agree with Audie. You know how it will go, Violet, if you and I return to Citlatl without him.”

“Mother will want to meet him!” Yolotli added.

“And we’ll only travel faster with him along,” Audie said. “Because he’ll make himself useful, and because  _ you’ll _ be moping if we leave him behind that long, Vi-o-letty.”

Violet raised her hands with a weak laugh. “Fine. I suppose you’re right. Four days, though…” She glanced toward the door. “I’m going to find a messenger to send for him to come sooner than usual.” And with that, she hurried away from the great hall, leaving Aloth glancing in confusion from one orlan to the next as they exchanged knowing grins among themselves.

“Pardon me,” he finally said, “but I’m not sure what just happened. Edér is certainly useful in the sort of trouble we generally found ourselves in when we both traveled with the Watcher, but why would he go with her on this occasion? As I understood it, he was occupied in Dyrford Village these days.”

Audie’s grin grew wider. “They’re courting.”

Had Aloth been in the middle of quenching the thirst of the road at that moment, he would have spewed the drink over the four of them equally as he looked around, wide-eyed. “Wh-what?” he sputtered. “Edér?  _ Violet? _ ” The orlans’ grins and nods confirmed it. Iselmyr, internally, crowed with delight as Aloth struggled to wrap his mind around the thought of --

No. Better not to think of it at all.


	2. Lost and Not Yet Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet's brother Garivald has a lot to deal with as mayor of Citlatl - especially the appeals of an elf desperate to find a mysterious missing person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...maybe instead of a few days between chapters, a few hours? *sigh* I couldn't wait to get Lenneth's introduction out into the world. Or Lenn couldn't wait, more likely. And it's short so we can consider it an addendum to chapter 1! Enjoy!

“Please,” the elven woman begged, eyes wide, hands clasped in the picture of distraught innocence, “you’ve  _ got _ to help me find him!”

Mayor Garivald Itzli sighed, avoiding eye contact and doing his best to look busy by shuffling through the papers on his desk. Papers that he might be able to finally deal with if this woman would stop calling on him every single day to press her case. “I assure you, Miss…” he paused. He knew her name; it was right there on one of the papers, albeit one he’d made sure to file far below other, actually important matters. But it wouldn’t do to be too friendly with this one. She had a way of taking a teaspoon of hope and baking it like soda into a cake fit to feed a village.

“Lenneth Morelli,” she said with a sudden bright smile, as she did nearly every day, sticking out her hand to shake and looking not the least bit rattled when Garivald failed, again, to take it. 

“Miss Morelli,” he continued. “I assure you that your missing persons case is being given due diligence. I have already sent watchmen around asking after this...did you say he was your uncle?’”

“Well, not an  _ uncle _ literally,” the elf admitted, eyes shifting toward the ceiling. “More like a...a mentor. I  _ call  _ him uncle, you know, but we’re not actually related.”

“Noted,” Garivald said dryly, glancing down at the case sheet where, only days ago, he had recorded her claim that the missing person was some sort of business connection. She’d also claimed to be from the town of Tlanextic, not far from Citlatl, but the inquiries he’d sent that way had yet to turn up anything on Lenneth Morelli  _ or _ this fellow Grigor whose disappearance had made her such a thorn in the mayor’s side. “Be that as it may, the search is ongoing and there is nothing I can do at this time to speed it up. Perhaps if my Head of Investigation were here, but alas, he is presently on loan to my sister in the Dyrwood. My apologies, Miss Morelli, and we will be in touch should we require further information from you.”

“Or if --  _ when _ \-- you find him. Right?” Lenneth pled, combining the wide eyes with a hopeful smile. “And you have my address, right? Or should I just come by tomorrow to check in? I can just come by again, it’s no bother.”

“No, no,” Garivald hurried to assure her. “No need for that. We have it right here --” he consulted the case file -- “ah, yes, the Adra Antelope. Charming. We’ll be in touch. Good day, Miss Morelli.”

With only a little more coaxing, the petitioner was finally prevailed upon to vacate the Mayor’s office. Garivald leaned back in his chair with a sigh. As if it wasn’t enough that, on top of all the daily demands of his very important position, his mother was likely to return to the Wheel any day. Lenneth Morelli could not have picked a worse time to misplace this irreplaceable  _ uncle _ of hers.

A ray of hope occurred to him: with any luck, by now the family’s courier had reached Caed Nua. If Violet saw fit to rejoin the family for their mother’s last days, surely Anselm would return with her. Garivald would be overjoyed to put his Head of Investigation back on all these cases that were piling up in the town of Citlatl. Between Anselm’s gift for tracking the soul essence in and around things, and his lack of a dying mother, Lenneth would have her missing person back in no time. And then Garivald would have some peace.


	3. Third Wheel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aloth is still getting used to the rather disturbing concept of his friends becoming lovers.

Edér arrived in the middle of the second night after Aloth did, on a horse borrowed from his employer when Violet’s courier arrived that morning, urging him to hurry. When the commotion of his arrival to Brighthollow interrupted Aloth’s sleep, he opened his bedroom door to see the tall farmer catch a giggling Violet up in his arms, lifting her feet from the floor as he swung her around in an exhilaration of greeting.

Feeling like an intruder upon the tender looks between his friends, Aloth retreated into his own room again, but not quietly enough. Edér looked up at some sound he’d made and burst into a wide smile at the sight of him. “Aloth!” he called, setting Violet down and striding over to catch the elf in an embrace. For a moment Aloth flinched with the expectation that he was about to be swung in a circle himself, but apparently that was merely a courtship ritual and not Edér’s new habitual greeting for everyone. He briefly hugged Aloth and then leaned back, gripping the elf’s shoulders as he looked him over. “Wanderer’s come home, eh? Good to see you back, man.” Edér glanced down to Violet. “Your messenger didn’t mention we had company. Oh!” He grinned. “This why you wanted me back sooner?”

“I wish that were all,” Violet said, reaching for Edér’s hand and leading him to a cluster of chairs on the landing. Aloth hesitated, then trailed after them and sat quietly watching their faces as Violet told Edér the news about her mother. Halfway through he realized what he was looking for: some sign, in their expressions, of this new thing between his two friends. After Audie had taken him by surprise yesterday with the news of their courtship, Violet had hardly said a word to Aloth about how such a thing had happened. She had been clearly anxious for Edér to arrive from the moment her messenger left Caed Nua, and it was understandable that, with the weight of bad news from home on her mind, she would not be very inclined to gossip about their relationship overmuch. Aloth wondered that she had never thought to tell him about it earlier -- and then admitted to himself that the past several months had rarely found him in a position to receive letters.

The signs were there, Aloth realized. In their clasped hands as Violet told Edér the news. In the tenderness with which he brushed a tear from her cheek and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. In her smile as she looked back at him and nodded.

The two of them had always gotten along well, ever since Aloth met them both back in Gilded Vale. They shared a faith, after all, and complemented each other both in combat and in their approach to life. But the years since Violet settled in Caed Nua and Edér in Dyrford had clearly added a new dimension to their friendship. It was...a little unsettling, to walk back into their lives at a moment like this. Aloth glanced away as Edér smoothed a lock of hair away from Violet’s eyes and she leaned her cheek into his palm with a tender smile.

“Anyway,” Violet was saying, “we should get to bed. Now that you’re here, we can set out for Citlatl in the morning.”

And with that, Aloth quickly bid them both goodnight and slipped back into his own room without waiting to see which room Edér ended up in.

* * *

Early the next morning, yawning as the midnight reunion took its toll, Aloth carefully made his way downstairs. No one else seemed to be stirring as yet, but he expected Violet would want to be on the road early now that their whole party was assembled. The atrium was dark, yet he could hear faint voices from the kitchen even over the bubbling of water in the fountain. So he followed the voices -- and soon the enticing smells of breakfast in the making.

He recognized Edér’s voice and his laughter, far too cheerful at this hour, but the greeting died on Aloth’s lips when he rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Good mo-- Oh!” It seemed he’d blundered right into the middle of an early morning tryst. While the bacon sizzled and porridge simmered on the stove, Violet sat perched nearby on a high countertop, a mixing bowl set aside so she could reach for Edér as he leaned in to kiss her. Interrupted in their kiss, Edér glanced back and grinned at the elf while Violet went as red to the tips of her ears as Aloth imagined his must be right now. “Er -- Excuse me,” he stammered, “I’ll just...um…” and quickly backed out of the kitchen, fleeing through the dark atrium to the adjoining sitting room where tables were set out for dining. He slumped into a chair in the corner farthest from the kitchen, rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, and tried not to think on it, nor to listen to Iselmyr’s entirely inappropriate string of questions with which she was determined to fill the void of his thoughts.

When a little time had passed, a quiet shuffling signaled the filling of the seat next to him and a warm hand rested on his arm. Aloth looked up to see Violet gently sliding a plate over to him -- bacon, eggs, a somewhat misshapen muffin that he guessed was her latest attempt at baking. The smile she offered with this breakfast was tentative, the tips of her ears still flushed. “Sorry,” she said.

Aloth blinked at her in confusion. “Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing? Careless of me to interrupt you like that.”

“That’s okay,” she shrugged. “Privacy isn’t one of the foremost features of Brighthollow. And, um, everyone interrupts us sooner or later, I’ll have you know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m...not sure I needed to know that.”

Violet huffed a laugh and nodded at his plate. “Figured you’d be hungry. You should try the muffin. Can’t get them to rise right, but they taste much better than they look.”

Smiling to see that her baking skills were as he remembered, Aloth broke a piece from the muffin and carefully tasted it. Ginger, citrus -- indeed, apart from its shape, it was quite appealing. He told her so, and added, with a smirk, “Ten to one you were measuring the baking soda in the middle of a kiss and that accounts for the odd shape of these.”

“Hey now,” Violet laughed. “You can’t blame my muffins on Edér. They were turning out like this long before we started...courting.” He noted her hesitation, her hands tensing where they lay clasped at the table’s edge as she gave this new arrangement its name.

“Which was...how long ago now?” Aloth asked, casually breaking another piece from the muffin.

“Oh...a few months. Maybe a little more? As long as my kin have been here.” She glanced sidelong at him, twisting one of her curls around a finger as she thought back. “Feels longer than that, though. Anselm said…” she smiled a little, blushed a little more, and her voice softened, “said there’s a bond between our souls; there was before we realized it, before it occurred to us to do something about it.”

“Anselm?” Aloth narrowed his eyes at the thought of the dour-seeming orlan involved in any such matchmaking.

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story…” Violet looked up at him. “But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about us courting before, that you keep having to be...well...ambushed by it.”

“You’re not to blame for me being out of contact since last we saw each other,” Aloth said. “But I will admit now to some curiosity. And this is a rather large muffin, despite the lopsided top and all, and between that and the bacon and eggs I should have ample time to hear everything.” He nodded to her once, slowly. “If you wish.”

So she told him briefly of their adventures a few months ago, when Edér had brought her a mystery to solve in Dyrford just after her family had arrived to see their oldest sister’s new keep. She had to pause in the telling when Aloth swallowed some bacon wrong at the revelation that Violet had formerly been betrothed to Anselm, and that Anselm had concluded his attempt to win her back by actually shoving her in Edér’s direction. When the fit of surprised coughing subsided, he summarized wryly: “So you’re courting Edér on the recommendation of your former lover?”

Violet’s fur ruffled. “Anselm and I were _betrothed_ , it doesn’t mean…” She sighed. “Anyway, yes, but also, no. Anselm made me see it, but I’d been fond of Edér for so long at that point, it was...I took him for granted. I’d see him every few weeks on business for the Night Market -- sometimes he’d just visit as a friend too -- and I looked forward to those times like nothing else.”

“Not as much as you look forward to them now, I suppose,” Aloth grinned.

“It is frustrating,” she admitted, “living a day away from him.”

“Why does he still live in Dyrford, then?”

“We both have responsibilities,” Violet insisted. “To Caed Nua. To the Night Market. We’re fortunate we can work together on things so often, but I don’t want to abandon the church in Dyrford just so I can see Edér all the time.”

Aloth nodded, regarding her with pursed lips. “You realize the concept of _courtship_ implies a goal of, eventually, seeing him all the time. As his _wife_.”

“Maybe,” Violet hedged. “It’s...that’s something we haven’t discussed much as yet.” She stared at her hands, clasped again on the table’s edge. “Everything’s complicated. Anselm and I agreed to break things off, but technically we’re still betrothed. To most of the clan, that’s all that counts. Some of my siblings are prepared to welcome Edér with open arms -- he’s constantly in cahoots with Audie, and Lottie would see us married tomorrow if she could; I think she’s already composed a handful of wedding songs for it, just in case. And Xipil’s on board just because his hound, Yaotl, likes Edér. But the rest of the clan, those who were visiting here when our courtship began, most of them were very resistant to the idea of me marrying anyone but a proper orlan suitor from back home.”

“Meaning Anselm,” Aloth guessed.

“Yes, Anselm,” Violet said. “So...I suppose we’ve got to just give it time. Hope that they’ll come around. And if they don’t, Ixamitl is far enough from Caed Nua, it shouldn’t really matter what my clan thinks of the man I choose to love. But…”

“But today you’re going home,” Aloth finished.

Violet nodded. “With my controversial suitor. To say farewell to my dying mother, who will probably object most strongly of all to such a union. Aloth, it’s --”

She broke off, choking up, and Aloth hesitated only a moment before slipping an arm around her shoulder. Sniffling, Violet leaned into him. “Tell me one thing,” he asked. “Do you love him?”

“Of course,” she said, a smile audible in her voice. “But I love my family too.”

“Then we simply need to convince them to love each other.”

“Easier said than done. Edér means well, I know, but in a city of orlans he’s bound to say something they can take offense to. And it _is_ a city of orlans -- that’s how it is in the Plains; we don’t mix much with the folk in their cities. I’m sure we’ll see some impressive acrobatics as my kin manage to look down their noses at a man twice their height.”

“Speaking of which,” Aloth said, several of Iselmyr’s questions clamoring at once to be asked, “that must be...awkward. I mean, he’s twice _your_ height.”

Violet huffed and elbowed him. “Aloth!”

He pressed on, with a wicked grin, “You must spend an awful lot of time sitting on countertops.”

“Well…yes,” she allowed, and then grinned back. “I suppose I do. Perhaps you’ve noticed there are also more chairs and stepstools standing around, in case I need to kiss him somewhere without countertops.”

“Very convenient. You know, you seem both quite capable of managing the difference in your stature with creativity and aplomb. Surely it’ll be the same with any other barriers between you.”

“Hmmm,” she mused. After a moment, she leaned over to throw her arms around his neck and squeeze him in a quick hug. “Thanks, Aloth.”

“Anytime,” he said as she sat back, pilfering a piece of bacon from his plate. Aloth finished off his muffin, no longer even noticing its oddities. It was wholesome, delicious, even if it did not quite look like a muffin should. _Are ye munching on a muffin or a metaphor, laddie?_ Iselmyr’s amusement echoed through his mind. Aloth scoffed mentally at her, but she wasn’t wrong. Perhaps it would remain awkward, seeing his friends transform into lovers while he stood by, but it was also good to see their happiness. Aloth would not begrudge Violet his support, not at a time like this. Whether he would ever get used to stumbling across their kisses was another matter, but he could live with the discomfort. The way Violet lit up when Edér wandered in with his own breakfast plate minutes later -- that was what mattered.


	4. Under Surveillance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the mayor won't follow up on Lenneth's missing person report, will she have to take matters into her own hands?

Lenneth was quickly running out of options.

_ Look on the bright side _ , she told herself, chewing irritably on the last of the local sweets --  _ tzopi _ , they called it: a tight-packed ball of rice and dried fruits, sweetened with honey -- she’d brought with her on today’s stakeout.  _ They’re still watching too. So they haven’t found him. I still have a chance. _

A chance that slipped further from her grasp every day. A chance that would likely be greatly augmented if she could just get that stuffy orlan mayor to do something about Grigor’s disappearance. The longer he dragged his heels, the farther her quarry fled -- or, she feared, the farther his abductors could spirit him away.

Deep breath. They were still watching his door too. They hadn’t spirited him away. Yet.

But so long as they were keeping an eye on Grigor’s rooms at the Crossed Candles Inn, Lenneth couldn’t get inside to take a better look at the place herself. She could only rely on what she’d observed the first time she met the man in there: his fascinating contraptions of copper and bits of adra (and how red he’d turned when she gave in to the temptation to take a closer look at one of them than he’d like); the stacks of books and scrolls that had to be moved from chair to chair to make room for her to sit and be examined; and, perhaps just as much a sign of his profession as the rest, the refreshing absence of allusions to any god.

_ I seek that I may understand; Clever Hound, honor my strength with a trail worthy of pursuit. _

Lenneth cringed at the intrusive memory of the prayer, even as she acknowledged its applicability in her current predicament. That was what she got for searching her memories of Grigor’s rooms too intensely. Unlikely that anything she’d seen that day would put her on Grigor’s trail, anyway. More important was whatever happened  _ after _ he cut their consultation short and hurried her out the door, shuttering his windows against whatever he’d seen to spook him so.

She’d come back the next day, as he suggested, only to find his door locked and get no response to her urgent knocking. That in itself wasn’t so odd: perhaps he was out buying his daily bread, or on a visit to a homebound patient. But she’d caught sight of two of _them_ , as she went away discouraged and confused: cloaked, hooded; one at the end of Grigor’s hallway and the second just ducking around the corner as Lenneth stepped out onto the street. Something in their furtive movements -- in the cut of their cloaks -- in the shadows filling their hoods -- reminded her of…

Of Woedica.  _ That _ was ridiculous. What did she know of Woedica? Certainly nothing in common with strangers in hoods. But just to be safe, Lenneth had ducked down several alleys, scaled a chimney, doubled back over the roofs as silently as she knew how, only to see  _ three _ more of the hooded figures -- or maybe just one more; it was hard to say the first two weren’t among this group also -- in convenient positions along the street and in a second-story window across the alley from the Crossed Candles -- doing their best not to look like they were keeping an eye on those locked-up, surely empty by now, rooms. 

But when they were still there the next day, and the next, and every time Lenneth returned in hopes of a glimpse of the missing Grigor, it was obvious that keeping an eye was just what they were doing. So there was no hope of getting a closer look, picking his locks, slipping in his window or even creeping through the inn’s attic and cutting her way down into his rooms. 

It was almost the first time in her life Lenneth had turned to the law for help instead of keeping her distance from them for her own safety. But the mayor’s watchmen could go where she could not. Or they could get the hoods’ attention and leave an opening for Lenneth to slip in herself, unseen. If they would ever bother to look into her report of a missing person.

With a sigh, she left her perch atop the building nearest the inn and catfooted her way across the roofs once more. She’d have another go at charming the mayor into cooperation tomorrow, then. He would hear her out. He would send watchmen to find the elusive Grigor. He  _ had _ to.

Lenneth was running out of options and she was running out of time.


	5. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet and company return to Citlatl, orlan jewel of the Ixamitl Plains.

Everything was in order, in the chapel beneath Caed Nua. Eadric set another candle in its place on the altar and nodded as Watcher Violet went over her last-minute instructions.

“And if you’re not sure what to say for a sermon on Godandag, it’s all right if you just read from the texts. Remind kith of our hope. Reassure them if they have questions. Oh, and make sure to keep lights burning in the chapel at all times!”

“Yes, Miz Violet,” Eadric said, amused as he trimmed the wick on the next candle. “I know that.”

“Of course you do,” Violet sighed, pacing around the small chamber, hands clasped around the symbol of Eothas she wore around her neck. “You’ll do fine, Eadric. Oh, and if Dreogan…”

Somewhere in the back of Eadric’s mind, the surly, vengeful soldier, whose Awakening had nearly driven Eadric mad, then driven him to a spate of livestock poisonings in Dyrford, and finally driven him into training with the Watcher-priest, grumbled. Eadric didn’t mind; it was hard for Dreogan, killed in battle against the Readceran invaders, to put up with his soul’s new bearer training to be an Eothasian priest. Eadric was learning the knack of giving his Awakened soul space, and Dreogan was learning to assert himself less violently. “He likes it in the other chapel,” Eadric reminded his mentor. “And I’ve already made sure everything poisonous is locked away. Just in case.”

“Good lad,” Violet smiled. “Eadric?”

“Yes’m?”

“Thank you. For looking after things here.”

The boy shrugged. “S’what you trained me for, right? Go on, Miz Violet. High time you were on the road. Don’t worry about a thing in Caed Nua. I can handle prayers and services, and the Steward will manage the rest. Go see your mum, Miz.”

Violet nodded again, then reached up to gather her apprentice in a quick hug.

Eadric added, as she turned to go, “And I’ll keep her in our prayers. Every day. And all of you on the road, too.”

“Same to you, Eadric,” said Violet. “And may all our prayers be heard.”

* * *

Something in Violet’s soul lifted when the forests of the Dyrwood and vorlas fields of Readceras finally gave way to grasslands and scattered trees, the vast expanse of the Ixamitl Plains. Five years ago -- nearly six now -- she had left all this behind, traveling the world in search of Eothas. At times she had doubted she would ever see the savannahs again.

It was yet to be determined whether what she had learned in Sun in Shadow qualified as finding him. But the sunlight gleamed over a golden field of wheat, and she thought perhaps he’d been here in the Plains all along, dead or not, artefact of the Engwithans or not. Had she really needed to leave home?

Then she heard Anselm arguing with Audie somewhere behind her, and Edér rode up beside her pony and grinned down at her, and Violet conceded that, yes, she had needed her pilgrimage, even if it ended up being not exactly the pilgrimage that her uncle had set her on, years ago. She could hardly argue with the results.

“So,” said Edér, “this is the Plains, huh?”

“It is,” Violet confirmed.

“Kinda pretty,” Edér said, still peering out at the fields. Violet counted to ten as she prepared an answer for what she expected him to ask next.

“So, uh,” Edér continued, glancing down at Vi on her pony, “what sorta animals live hereabouts?”

Bingo. Violet grinned as she began a list: “That depends on which part of the Plains you’re in. Here, this close to Readceras, there is a lot of wildlife. Some things you’d have in the Dyrwood; some that are like them, but different. There are lions, and other big cats -- leopards, cheetahs -- they’re _predators,_ Edér; I really don’t recommend trying to pet them. Remember what happened with the stelgaer. There’s something much like a horse, but with stripes; and there are antelopes and gazelles -- sort of like the deer where you’re from. Hyenas -- they’re kind of a dog, but again _, not_ one you should try to pet. They’d make Itumaak look friendly. Speaking of which, we do have foxes, too, but not white ones. There’s one kind with ears like a bat that you would absolutely love! And all sorts of interesting birds, lizards, monkeys, alpacas, wild pigs, warthogs...it’s a very diverse region. But once we get closer to Citlatl, it’s much more civilized. The city itself is a center of learning and government for the nearest towns, but it’s surrounded by farmland. We have donkeys, sheep, cattle, most of the same things farmers raise in the Dyrwood. And some animals our farmers have domesticated that would be new to you. Alpaca, for instance. My sister Ginella married an alpaca farmer around the time I left home, so maybe we can go visit their farm while we’re here -- I’m sure you’d enjoy that. Oh, and there were a few dogs at home when I left, but that was a while ago. Some of Yaotl’s littermates. And one of my little sisters had a pet ferret. And baby Yaretzi had a very long-suffering and enormous cat, which hopefully doesn’t have to put up with quite so many toddler hugs now that Yaretzi’s older…”

“Think I’m gonna like it here,” Edér grinned.

“I...do hope so,” said Violet.

“After all,” he added, reaching out to take her hand as they rode on, “you’re from here. That alone does the country credit.”

“Mm,” she glanced up at him, her face warm in the sunlight of the Plains, “that would explain why I’ve grown so fond of the Dyrwood, too.”

Edér brightened at this, but then regarded her seriously for a moment. “Fond enough to go back there when this is all over?”

“I do have a keep to look after,” she pointed out.

“Sure, but you’ve got family here,” he nodded ahead of them, down the road to wherever Citlatl lay.

Violet considered, then squeezed his hand. “Maybe...maybe it _is_ time to come back here for more than a visit. I don’t know. I haven’t even seen some of them for five years. Let’s not look too far ahead for now, Edér.”

“No farther than the sun shines,” he nodded.

* * *

The sun was setting when they reached Citlatl, casting a rosy and cozy glow over the town. Edér had been around Violet and her kin long enough to stop feeling taller than necessary, like he had the first time he walked into the family gathering at Caed Nua. But Citlatl was a city of orlans, and it showed. Most of the homes and businesses they passed were built to orlan proportions. Edér might not actually knock his head on the rafters, but he’d definitely have to duck to get through most of the doors.

It seemed a lively and flourishing community. Even at this hour, crowds of orlans hurried through the marketplaces on last-minute errands. Music, in brief and enticing snatches, caught the ears of the travelers as they rode past establishments full of orlans dining, dancing, or simply gathered to listen to the performers. In one plaza marked with an elaborate series of concentric and overlapping circles, children darted back and forth in some sort of game, pursuing a ball sewn of bright fabrics. The city was so full of life, Edér gradually relaxed and stopped hunching down in his saddle whenever its tiny citizens glanced at the strangers riding through town.

Not all strangers, he corrected himself as their path came to quieter parts of the city. Larger buildings, too. A slight incline in the streets had brought them to a district elevated from the rest of town, and it was clearly a city center of some sort. Yolotli pointed out the street leading to the Academy, where philosophers and scholars pursued knowledge and wisdom beyond the basic (but rigorous) education that children in Citlatl were given at the schools run by the clan collectives, or calpulli, to which their families belonged. Anselm pointed out the government buildings, where the Itzlis’ oldest brother, Garivald, served as mayor and where Anselm worked as Head of Investigation for the city watchmen. Audie, to Edér’s great delight, pointed out a zoological park where specimens of many local fauna and flora could be seen. Violet pointed out the temple of Eothas where she had trained as a priest. Like several other structures in the city -- government buildings, temples to other gods -- it was built of several stories of hewn stone, stacked up like a pyramid, each layer smaller than the one below it. There was nothing orlan-sized about it, with lanterns shining from tall spires on the highest level, and tall, narrow windows decorated with stories of the god, and doors that would easily accommodate an aumaua -- or seven aumaua abreast -- swung wide to admit the faithful.

From the temple, they soon reached the Itzlis’ neighborhood -- and that of their whole calpulli, the collective of families that settled this district. From Violet’s and Yolotli’s explanations, it seemed to be a basic unit of their government: each district’s schools and administration were overseen by the clan heads of its calpulli, and the collection of all those districts made up the city, overseen by the mayor (Vi’s brother), and the city in turn paid tribute to the tlatoani, some sort of erl or duc a few cities over who was responsible for this part of the Plains.

The Coatls, too, were of the Itzlis’ calpulli. Anselm bid the travelers farewell at a crossroads, heading off to his own family’s home with a promise to stop by the Itzli estate tomorrow.

And then they rode down a tree-lined avenue, and Audie, now taking the lead, turned between two short, neatly trimmed trees of a variety Edér did not recognize, dark green leaves dotted with pale yellow blossoms. Between two rows of such trees, evenly spaced, the path meandered up to a grand house, with two round towers on either side of an elegant stone facade, lined with windows now glowing with candlelight as it grew dark outside. As the long lane approaching the house curved around small outbuildings -- cottages or storage sheds of some sort, a little gazebo, a stable -- he could see rectangular wings extending behind each of the towers, connecting them to another pair of towers in the back. Edér let out a low whistle. “Nice place, Vi.”

Her ears twitched in a motion he’d come to recognize as some combination of pleased and flustered. “It’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

“Less crowded than it used to be,” Audie piped up, falling back to ride beside Violet and nudge her with an elbow. “Since you’ve been gone, Nico, Ginny, and Zaniyah have all gotten married and moved out. Still in the neighborhood, though, except Ginny on the farm of course. Oh, and Eréndira was due to be married soon after the trip to Caed Nua, so I don’t know if she and her husband are still here or if they’ve found a place of their own by now.”

“So,” Yolotli added, counting on her fingers, “that leaves Audie, Xipil and me, Nenetl, Zoe, and baby Yaretzi.”

“Not really a baby anymore,” Audie grinned. “He turned nine just before our trip to Caed Nua.”

“Yaretzi will always be the baby,” Yolotli shot back, and then her face fell. “Even if...even if Mother pulls through this sickness, I guess she’s probably done having children now.” At her side, Xipil reached to take her hand.

“Thirteen is a completely respectable number of offspring, anyway,” Audie said, turning off the main path toward the stable.

Aloth, who had been peering thoughtfully around the lawn at the estate’s various buildings and landscaping, looked back at Audie, wide-eyed. “Thirteen? Seriously? I knew there were more of you than the three staying with Violet at Caed Nua, but…”

“It was indeed a little crowded,” Violet smiled, “when we all still lived here as kids. Though Garivald married when Yaretzi was still _actually_ a baby, so it wasn’t for very long that we all had to fit in the house at once.”

“I imagine everyone’s stopping by more often to visit Mother right now, though,” added Audie.

“So long as they aren’t all home at once,” said Violet. “With all the nieces and nephews it really _would_ be crowded.”

“And lively,” Yolotli laughed, hopping down from her pony as they reached the stable. “But for now, there should even be a spare room open in the boys’ wing for our guests.”

“Great,” Edér grinned. He reached over to nearly knock Aloth off his horse with a friendly pat on the back; the elf was too distracted staring at the house to brace for it. “Been a while since we got to be roommates. You as excited as I am, buddy?”

“That depends,” Aloth replied, his tone dry and his look one of reproach as he swung a leg over to climb down from his horse. “I presume you still snore?”

“’Course,” Edér laughed. “Hope Iselmyr still talks in your sleep, too.”

Aloth sighed. “Then of course I’m ecstatic.”

Yolotli and Xipil approached, gathering up the reins of the horses and ponies. “We’ll get these settled in the stables,” Yolotli said.

Audie nodded and beckoned to the rest of them. “Come on, Vi. Let’s get your fellows settled in the boys’ wing.”

* * *

In the chapel, the candles still burned. Audie found Violet there, adding a freshly lit one to those already crowded on the family altar.

Outside, it was full night. Inside, the younger siblings had all been tucked into bed after many excited hugs and ceaseless questions at their brother’s and sisters’ homecoming. Violet’s folk and elf friends had been tucked into the guest room that used to be Nico’s and Xipil’s, before Corbus married one of Anselm’s sisters and moved out and Xipil got his old tower room, and then Nico married and moved out and left that room of the boys’ wing free for guests.

Their father had emerged briefly from their parents’ room, now the center of the long family vigil, to embrace his long-wandering eldest daughter and to welcome the others home from their extended visit to the Dyrwood as well. But their mother was already asleep, and he would not begrudge her what hours of rest she could sneak past her illness. That reunion would have to wait for day.

Audie approached silently, but Violet heard her or sensed her anyway and looked up from her own lone vigil.

“Dinner’s ready,” Audie said in a chapel-trained hush. “The twins are fetching your boys, but I figured I’d find you here.”

“Oh,” Violet stirred slightly, looking startled by the thought of refreshment at journey’s end. “I’m sorry, I should have come and helped.”

“Hey,” Audie said, linking her elbow through her sister’s as they walked back out into the foyer. “You’ve been the hostess for months. Give someone else a chance to treat you.”

“Audrisa Itzli, this is _my_ family home too,” Violet laughed. “Besides, I hired a cook at Caed Nua to spare us all my baking disasters. I don’t run the whole keep myself. This isn’t Caed Nua; it’s home, and we all pitch in.”

“Bake us a disaster for breakfast and we’ll call it even,” Audie said. “Also, are you sure you don’t want a room to yourself? I can stay in the green room now that Nenetl and Zoe each have a room of their own, and you can --”

“No,” Violet interrupted. “I don’t mind sharing if you don’t. Actually, I’m looking forward to it. Like old times.”

“Good,” Audie smiled. “I missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case my narration here and in future chapters of the layout of the Itzli house isn't clear, here's a floorplan!


	6. The Vigil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet is reunited with father, mother, and uncle. Five years later, there have been many changes, but one thing has not changed at all...

Chimalli Itzli, patriarch of the clan and Administrator of the tlatoani’s Advisory Council, showed up to breakfast the next morning just as Violet and Edér walked into the dining room with trays of her questionable muffins.

“Papa!” Violet exclaimed, setting down her tray and going to hug him. “How are you doing?” she whispered in his ear. “You looked so haggard last night.”

“Well enough, dear, given the circumstances,” he whispered back. “You look to be flourishing yourself.” He leaned back to look her over with a gentle smile.

“Oh, well,” she ducked her head and smoothed the fur at her wrists, “yes, I suppose. Caed Nua is in good order. And I --” she glanced at Edér, but he was busy teasing Audie about something, while tossing muffins to Violet’s youngest siblings, as the girls giggled shyly and Yaretzi pestered a very uncomfortable looking Aloth with questions. “Well,” Violet shrugged. “I’m happy. But I’ve missed you all.”

“It’s good you’re back,” he said, patting her hands before taking a seat at the table. “Your mother will be so relieved to see you safe and sound.”

“I’m relieved we weren’t too late for that,” Violet admitted, finding her own seat between Edér and Audie. “How is she?”

“The pain is constant, but she bears it well,” Chimalli began, as Xipil brought him a muffin and a glass of juice. “Thank you, my boy. Oh my, what an interesting shape.”

“My doing,” Violet sighed. “Someday I’ll get it right.”

Edér smirked, reaching for his second muffin already. “Tastes fine, though, long as you don’t look too close.”

Chimalli took a cautious bite, then nodded. “So it does. You know, Eréndira has been doing much of our baking lately. Or had been; she’s married now, of course. Lives nearby, though. You might ask her about it.”

“Yes. Well,” Violet said. “About Mother?”

“Ah, yes,” her father continued. “Your uncle has kept up her strength with prayers and some concoction he brings every day for her to drink. Gives her a few hours of lucidity to enjoy what time she has left with us. She still does her best to keep the whole family running, even while confined to bed,” he chuckled, “but it can’t be much longer now. The effort tires her quicker every day, so she sleeps most of the time.”

“Oh, Papa,” Violet said, her ears sinking with the weight of the family’s burden. “I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, dear,” he said, lowering his head with a slight smile and eyes nearly drifting shut. “It is what it is. The years have caught up with us. She has lived a full life and will send her soul on in peace, when the time comes. And in the meantime, it has been a blessing to have these last weeks with her, saying our goodbyes.” Then at the last, his voice caught, and he lowered his gaze further, his hands clasped over his plate.

Violet ventured quietly, when her father did not speak further, “Is she….May we see her now? Would she be awake?”

“Best to wait until Patli brings her draught for the day,” Chimalli said. “That will make everything easier.”

So they ate as if it were merely an ordinary breakfast, despite the undercurrent of urgency as they listened for Uncle Patli’s knock at the door. Chimalli cast many a curious glance at Violet’s tall companions, whose names had been given last night before the patriarch retired again to his wife’s bedside, but whose reasons for accompanying Violet home had been largely unadressed in that brief time. Violet grew tense, wondering if she should announce here and now, in front of everyone, that she was courting Edér, or if that conversation was best had with her father later in private. Everyone else at the table already knew, after all -- well, not the children. But they and Chimalli might have heard it already from those of the clan who had visited Caed Nua but not stayed along with the twins and Audie and Anselm, so --

Her father, however, hurried through his meal and excused himself to again take up the vigil at his wife’s bedside until Patli should arrive. Edér found Violet’s hand under the table, gave it a squeeze, winked at her ever so slightly. She sighed out the tension and nodded. Later it was, then.

Nearly an hour later, when they had barely finished washing up the breakfast dishes, a knock at the door signaled Patli’s arrival. Zoe and Yaretzi raced each other, clamoring to answer it. By the time Violet caught up, they had the old priest surrounded, patiently answering their questions and slipping sweets into their waiting palms. When the children ran away satisfied, Patli looked up and beamed to see Violet across the foyer.

“Well,” he nodded, opening his arms. “So it’s true. My little candle. Home from your pilgrimage.”

Violet smiled and stepped forward to embrace him. “Hello, Uncle. Yes, and I’ve so much to tell you.”

“Good,” he answered. “I’d have to send you out again if you didn’t, I suppose.” He leaned back to look at her. “First, however, let’s see to your mother. You’ll come find me at the temple while you’re in town, and we’ll talk.”

Violet nodded. As Patli turned to the staircase leading up to the second floor, Violet glanced down the hall to see Audie and the twins hurrying from the kitchen to join them. Together they followed their uncle up to their parents’ room.

It was quiet in the bedchamber, quieter even than the rest of the house, whose somber, expectant hush was broken only by the restless energy of the youngest siblings and their excitement at having the others home from Caed Nua. Chimalli sat in an armchair drawn up to the bedside, his head bowed over hands clasped, elbows balanced on his knees. His wife Izél lay propped up on pillows. Five years had certainly taken their toll on her, even before the sickness: her hair and fur had gone all grey, when Violet recalled elegant strands of silver alternating with gold the last time she saw her mother. The skin of her face had taken on a greener tone than Violet recalled, as well, and drew tight against her cheekbones. But her voice, when Patli approached her side and woke her with a quiet word of greeting and a hand on her shoulder, was as rich and warm as ever, though it too conformed to the hush of the room. “Ah, brother. One more dawn, then?”

“Sister,” Patli murmured, stepping back from her line of sight just as Xipil, the last to enter, closed the door behind the group. “Look who’s come to see you.”

Izél followed his nod to the cluster of her children. She smiled to see Audie, Xipil, Yolotli, all home after several months away. But her eyes grew wide as soon as she saw Violet. “Oh!”

“Mama,” Violet said, drawing closer. “It’s so good to see you.”

Izél stirred in her nest of pillows, reaching out. “Oh, baby. It’s really you? It’s been so long.”

Violet went to her and bent to embrace her. “Too long. The years pass so quickly.”

“That’s how you know you’re grown up,” Izél said, her voice warming with humor. “When you’re counting not the days left till you _can_ do something but the years that sneak past you when you’re occupied with living.” She raised a hand to pat Violet’s cheek as she leaned back from the hug to sit on the edge of the bed. “And my, how grown up you are now, daughter of mine. I have heard _stories_ of your adventures, you know.”

“Oh. Good,” Violet laughed, as the rest of the siblings gathered closer, drawing up chairs or perching on the bed as well. “Then I don’t need to go over all of that again.”

Patli returned to the bedside then, holding out a glass filled with a blueish liquid. “Ah, now let the day begin,” Izél smiled, taking his potion and draining it down in three quick gulps. She sighed with relief as she handed the empty glass back to him. Indeed, some color already was returning to her face as she said, “Now, my girl. You’re not getting out of this so easily. I want a full accounting. I’ve had bits and pieces from the rest of the clan after they visited you, but secondhand stories are more fun for seeing how wrong everyone gets the details than for the truth of the events. Tell me everything.” She glanced around at the others. “And that goes for the rest of you too.”

So they sat and told her about their months at Caed Nua, from the adventures in Dyrford to the more mundane anecdotes that followed the rest of the clan’s return to Citlatl. Then Violet told a little of her years alone on pilgrimage and the surprises and challenges of the Dyrwood and Awakening to find herself a Watcher, though she omitted much. Some of her travels, learning from priests of Eothas throughout Eora and carrying home their greetings, were for her uncle’s ears. And some of the things she had learned -- from Iovara, from Thaos -- were best told cautiously if at all. Violet was still, years later, working out what to make of those secrets herself.

They filled their mother’s waking hours with their stories, till Izél began to tire again, her eyelids fluttering and muscles tightening in pain as the potion wore off. Between stories, Patli interposed gently, “That’s enough for now. Time to rest, my dear.”

They all bid her farewell as lightly as one can when knowing at the back of one’s mind that it might be the last such farewell, then filed out of the room. The last to leave, as Violet followed her uncle out she just caught Izél’s sleepy whisper to Chimalli: “It’s good that she’s speaking to Anselm again. I should so like to see that wedding before I die.”


	7. The Crossed Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unsolved cases have been piling up in Anselm's absence from the Citlatl Watch. One case in particular takes priority, though.

Anselm reported to work the morning after their return to Citlatl as if no time had passed. The stack of case files on his desk would suggest otherwise. He sighed as he settled into his chair, cleared his mind, and ran a hand over the files, sensing traces of the souls that had compiled them and left them here. Some reeked of boredom, some of curiosity. A few were limned in a sense of urgency: these he set aside, in a cipher’s triage, as his first priority.

Actually, first priority might be recruiting a cipher  _ apprentice _ to this office. Garivald was becoming far too reliant on the investigative advantages of Anselm’s gift. It might not be a common skill, but it was trainable, from what Anselm had learned while in Violet’s employ the past few months. If the mayor had forgotten that ordinary watchmen could sometimes solve a case without tracing a single soul in the Head of Investigation’s absence, they would just have to employ more ciphers. Or Anselm would be stuck at this desk till his own soul went back to the Wheel, beyond all tracing.

He was making a short list of watchmen whose mental skills, as observed prior, might be up to such training, when one watchman (not, sadly, one on the list) suddenly peeked into the office. “Sir!” the brown-furred orlan exclaimed, ears perking up to find it occupied.

“Xocoh,” Anselm greeted the boy. “Please tell me you’re not here to drop off another file.”

“Uh -- no, sir, think they’ve already all been brought by,” he fumbled, looking apprehensively at Anselm’s piles of papers. 

“So you’re here to take some elsewhere?” Anselm asked with jovial certainty that it was not so.

“Um...no, sir. Didn’t know you were back, so…”

“Ideally,” Anselm muttered, “in my continued absence taking these elsewhere is  _ exactly _ what you would be here to do.”

“...so,” the boy pressed on, rocking from one foot to the other, “maybe you should check in with the mayor.”

“Oh?” Anselm glanced over the priority pile again. Alerting the mayor that he was back only meant more would be added to it.

“He’s put us all on the lookout for you to get back,” Xocoh shrugged. “Got something important for you, I gather.”

“Too important to already be on my desk?” Anselm arched an eyebrow. “What’s all this, then?”

Xocoh glanced at the files. “Cases we’ve hit a dead end on, sir. Thought if you were to take a closer look we might get further.”

“Probably,” Anselm sighed, “but you lot hit those dead ends all too quickly nowadays. Here. Take these,” he gathered up the  _ bored/curious _ stacks and shoved them at the watchman, “to Tecuatl. Tell him I’ve looked them over and the answer is obvious, if carefully considered. He is to assign each of these to a pair of watchmen different from those who first investigated the case. I expect them to make the connections their predecessors failed to make, or to visit the crime scenes again and find the evidence that was previously overlooked, and report to me by the end of the week. I have my eye out for creative thinkers suitable for promotion. Got that? All right, then. I’m off to see the mayor. Pray for my soul.”

The mayor’s door was closed, but it did not take cipher skills to tell that the office was occupied. Voices were raised in argument or entreaty. Garivald’s sounded...weary. Anselm tapped his foot for a minute as he listened at the door. Couldn’t make out the words, but the emotions were clear enough, especially augmented with a little soul-listening. So he finally shrugged and barged in on the conversation.

At the creak of the door, the voices broke off and all eyes turned in his direction. Garivald, mayor of Citlatl, in the midst of running a hand through his short-trimmed hair, brightened immediately. He’d been leaning forward with a hand braced on his desk, but he stood up straight at the sight of Anselm, and a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. His visitor, a petite elven woman sporting shabby leather armor and far less shabby gold earrings, looked less confused than curious at the intrusion. She faltered only a moment before putting on a charming smile as she looked him over.

“Morning, Gar,” Anselm grinned. “Sorry to interrupt. Just letting you know I’m back.”

“Not at all, not at all,” said the mayor. “Your timing is impeccable as always.”

“How’s my sister?” Anselm asked before Garivald could start in on business.

“Narusa? Oh, she’s fine. The children are well. They’ll all be glad to know you’re home. For a while, I hope?”

“We’ll see,” Anselm said, one eye on the intently listening elf. “Anyway, from the state of my desk, I should get back to catching up on things in the office. I hope the watchmen actually managed to solve  _ some _ cases without me.”

The elf’s ears definitely perked up at that. She twitched as if about to step in his path when Anselm turned back to the door, then she turned and appealed to Garivald instead. “Mayor…?”

“Yes!” Garivald brought his hands together in half a clap, then stepped around his desk to stand between his two visitors. “Anselm, allow me to present Miss Lenneth Morelli. Miss Morelli, this is Anselm Coatl, my brother-in-law and the Head of Investigation I believe I’ve mentioned.”

“You’ve been on vacation!” Lenneth said cheerfully, thrusting out her hand.

“Not exactly,” Anselm muttered, accepting the handshake. “I had business in the Dyrwood.”

“Oh! What’s it like? Is it very wild? I’ve heard there were riots and things not so long ago, and something about children dying? I hope it wasn’t as bad as all that. It’s on my list of places I’d love to see, but there’s also so much of the Plains left to visit, and --”

“Miss Morelli,” Garivald interrupted to Anselm’s rescue, “has a case that would be best served by your talents. As I’ve been telling her for more than a week now,” he added dryly, with the look of a man who clearly regretted having to spend a week listening to her appeals, “we’re doing all we can, but I know you could make more headway on the matter than our regular forces.”

“Well,” Anselm said, smiling politely past the sinking sense of dread, “that is what I’m here for.”

So for the next ten minutes, he sat across from the elf (in Garivald’s office: he might be here to take this burden off the mayor’s shoulders, but  _ not just yet _ ) and heard her tale. It was a most animated and dramatic telling, he’d give her that. A missing person case should not be too tough a nut to crack, either, not for a cipher; though it was a pity more than a week had passed since the man was last seen. Essences faded in time, at least from Anselm’s reach.

At last the elf departed, much energized and reassured by the assigning of her case to the top of the Head of Investigation’s priority list. Anselm turned to go as well, but Garivald stopped him, drawing him back into the office as he closed the door behind their petitioner.

“One more thing,” the mayor said in a low voice. “I don’t trust her.”

Anselm arched his eyebrows. “She does pour on the charm rather thickly.”

“You would know. It’s just that parts of her story don’t add up.”

“Such as?”

Garivald flipped through pages of the case file. “Says she’s from Tlanextic, but her accent seems more Rauatai than Ixamitl, for one thing.”

“She’s also not an orlan,” Anselm pointed out, “and  _ Morelli _ sounds more Vailian than anything. Tlanextic isn’t an uncommon place for immigrants to end up, Gar. By Ixamitl standards, it’s practically cosmopolitan. They’d tolerate her there better than...some.” He fixed the mayor with a meaningful look, but Garivald missed it.

“I also had some inquiries made in Tlanextic and found no trace of her there.”

“Hm.  _ That _ is interesting,” Anselm admitted. “Still, if she’s a recent immigrant…”

“Has a way of changing her story, too,” Garivald went on. “I don’t know who this Grigor actually is to her, but he’s not her uncle -- that was one line she gave me for a day or two earlier this week -- and must be more than just an acquaintance.”

“You suspect foul play?”

Garivald sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. I just want you to be careful about this one. Take reinforcements if you’re going to investigate any of the places she named. And keep an eye on her.”

“Noted,” Anselm nodded. “Perhaps, in that respect, we shouldn’t have let her wander off just now?”

“Oh, not to worry,” Garivald grimaced. “She’ll be back tomorrow. She checks in every day to see if we’ve found this Grigor yet. The sooner we actually do, the better. If you need her before that, she’s staying at the Adra Antelope.”

“All right. Then I’m off to work.” Anselm nodded a farewell and hurried out of the building before any more top-priority cases could catch up to him. Far better to be out in the field, looking for essence to trace as he pieced together a key scenario, than slogging through the files on his desk. Tucking Lenneth’s case files into his jacket with a crooked smile, he set out for the scene of the purported crime: Grigor’s rooms at the Crossed Candles.

* * *

Lenneth trailed the new investigator cautiously from the government district straight to the Crossed Candles Inn. He was certainly taking a more active interest in the case than anyone in the city watch had as yet. She worried, though, when he strode so plainly onto the scene of the crime without backup. She barely had time to look for the hooded kith staking out the building (noted at least two of them on on rooftops and one in the shop across the street) before she surrendered caution to curiosity and slipped into the inn after the investigator, hunching her shoulders in hopes those watching hadn’t recognized her.

While Anselm was talking with the innkeeper, apparently showing some sort of city watch identification and asking to look into Grigor’s rooms, Lenneth slipped past, up the stairs and into the common washroom at the end of Grigor’s hall. 

One more hood, at the other end of the hall. Plain as day, even if the corner he’d found to watch from was pretty out of the way and dim. Lenneth kept her hand on one of her knives, just in case.

She heard the innkeeper elaborating on how the patron booking the rooms under the name of Grigor was three days late on paying the rent, as he led the investigator up the stairs to the rooms in question. The man was obviously relieved someone had finally come to look at the so-called crime scene so it could be cleared out again and rented to another patron. She heard the key in the lock, the door opening and closing again behind Anselm, the innkeeper’s steps plodding slowly back down the stairs. When it was quiet again, she dared to peek out of the washroom.

No sign of the hallway hood. Panicking just a little, Lenneth crept down the hall to listen at Grigor’s door. No sound of a struggle; so far, so good? She tried the door: not locked. But it would hardly do to burst in on the investigator now --

Before she could come to a decision, the door swung open and she looked down at a smug investigator, arms crossed as he regarded her with a top-notch “caught you in the act” look (and Lenneth was somewhat of a connoisseur of those). “So,” Anselm said, “care to explain why you followed me here?”

Lenneth crossed her arms back and gave him her best protective-big-sister look (and she had considerable experience with those, too). “Well, you don’t expect me to let you march into a trap with no backup whatsoever, do you?”

His eyes narrowed. “I would note that if it’s a trap, it will not look good on the record that you’re the one baiting it. I’m only attempting to investigate the lead you gave us.”

“Yes, but…” Lenneth glanced around, hairs prickling at the back of her neck. She lowered her voice. “It’s...possible someone else is trying to investigate it too.”

Anselm frowned, cocking his head at an angle to peer past her into the dark hallway. “Besides yourself? How interesting that your earlier report made no mention of that.”

She shivered. “Can I come in? Rather not have this conversation out in the open.”

“It’s a hallway.”

“Yes, a very public one. Please.”  _ Oh thou the Obscured, hide me from seeking eyes, _ the prayer popped into her head without warning, and Lenneth tensed, squeezing her own eyes shut for a moment till it went away. She opened them wide again, appealing to the investigator. “Please. Trust me.”

He narrowed his eyes at her again while she balanced on the balls of her feet, just in case everything went to pieces. After a moment there was something that made her ears twitch -- like a whisper at the back of her mind, a touch of something unfamiliar, or long forgotten. Then the investigator stepped aside, waving her into the suite, almost to her own surprise ( _ come on now, Lenn, have a little faith in your own charms _ ). She shut the door and leaned back against it with a sigh of relief for only half a second before darting to the window to peek out through the shutters.

“I believe you were about to explain,” Anselm interrupted.

“Right,” she said without turning from the window. Still one in the building across the alley. Probably more on its roof. Probably more on the inn’s roof too, plus the one in the hallway on this floor and how many on the other floors? This was crazy, but there was no going back now. “I need to find Grigor.”

“So you’ve said. There is some contradiction in your given reasons as to why, you know.”

It all came out in a rush. If he’d decided to trust her, she could return the favor at least that far. “I met with him here last week about...a...personal matter. He cut it short and I was supposed to come back the next day, but his door was locked. I saw...I don’t know what, who, I saw exactly, but they were cloaked and hooded and believe me, I know when kith are up to no good.” The corner of his mouth turned up a bit at that, at least. “So I hightailed it out of here. Saw more of them, the hooded ones, watching the place outside. I knew I couldn’t get in here to track him while they had it under surveillance, so when they were still there after a few days I went to the watch for help. Only the mayor’s been no help at all.” She sighed. “I just need to...I don’t know. Look for clues. Papers. Some hint of where he’s gone. I don’t think they took him, or they wouldn’t still be watching the inn for him to come back, right?”

Anselm looked thoughtful. “It didn’t occur to you that once  _ I  _ got in, I’d be looking for the same sort of things anyway?”

“Honestly, after the first few days of trying to get the mayor to do something about it, I didn’t expect anyone he sent to be of much use either. Hoped at least they’d draw attention so I could sneak past the hoods.” Her face fell. “Might have gone the opposite way, though. There was one of them in the hall when you went in but I didn’t see him when I tried the door so…”

Anselm froze, eyes widening, then stepped to the door and turned the key in the lock. “We haven’t long, then. Get to looking.”

She stood in surprise for a moment while he began moving around the room, peering intently at one random object after another. Then it registered, that he’d ordered her to do exactly what she’d asked to do, what she’d planned to do on her own anyway, and she leapt to it.

They both moved silently enough, rifling through drawers and searching under cushions, lifting rugs in search of trap doors, and so on, that the first faint footfall outside the door brought them both to a standstill. Lenneth exchanged a glance with Anselm, then tiptoed to the window.

“Thought they were watching outside too,” he whispered as he caught up to her. 

“Yes, but how many more are inside?”

“We are not jumping out the window,” he said firmly, reaching for her wrist with an equally firm grasp. “We can take them.”

“What?” But he was already nudging her toward the door, whispering orders.

“I’ve got the first one through the door. Be ready in case he has backup.” Drawing his sword, he took a defensive stance directly opposite the doorway and gestured for her to throw it open.

She gave him one last “You’re crazy” look (another of her well-practiced standards) and then, swiftly turning and pocketing the key, threw caution to the wind and the door wide open.

The hooded figure on the other side, presently engaged in listening at the lock she’d just unlocked, stumbled forward into the room. Seeing no others in a glance down the hallway to both sides, Lenneth swung the door shut again just as quickly. She turned to find the intruder frozen in place while Anselm went through his pockets.

“What…”

“It won’t last,” Anselm said, voice clipped and precise, talking fast without seeming to rush. “I would bring him in for questioning but if there are as many of them surrounding the building as you’ve seen previously, I don’t think we’d get him far.”

“So you’re searching him? For information?” she deduced.

“Actually, it would speed things up if you’d like to take over that part. I’m also trying to search his mind.”

She stopped and stared. He was serious, and had backed away to let her at the man’s pockets. So she shook her head and picked up where Anselm had left off. “That’s why you didn’t just kill him, I guess?” she asked with perhaps more assumed cheer than necessary. “Can’t read a dead man’s mind.”

“No. Well,  _ I _ can’t,” said Anselm, thoughtfully, as a purple glow of soul energy coalesced quickly between his raised palm and the paralyzed, still hooded figure. Suddenly offended by the ubiquitous hood and by the lack of solid identification in his pockets, Lenneth pulled it back to reveal a man of the savannah folk, his nose crooked, lip frozen in a sneer where Anselm had apparently caught him in this paralysis spell. A spell which was just beginning to wear off. “Hey, his nose just twitched,” she warned her new friend (if he was going to go around paralyzing people and reading their minds, Lenneth decided keeping herself on his  _ friends _ list would be top priority).

“Damn,” Anselm muttered, dropping the purple glow in favor of swinging his pommel up towards the man’s skull, dropping him unconscious to the floor. “We should go,” he said with a glance up to Lenneth, and opened the door a crack to check the hallway.

“Yeah,” she said, glancing around the room once more, eyeing Grigor’s quirky machines with regret. “Too bad we didn’t find anything.”

Satisfied with the situation in the hallway, Anselm swung the door open and beckoned to her. “Who said we didn’t?”

“What?” She stepped out, paused to lock the door of Grigor’s room again behind them, and then followed the investigator, not back down the stair into the inn’s common room, but to the end of the hall where she had seen the hood lurking before. As if he’d done it a hundred times, Anselm ran his hand over a panel in the wall, caught at and lifted what appeared to be a latch of some sort, and slid the panel aside.

“Oh,” said Lenneth. “Of course there’s a secret door.”

“Didn’t have time to see much in his memory, but he was hiding here not long ago,” Anselm explained, leading the way down a narrow staircase. “Maybe it leads somewhere useful. Maybe at least it’ll get us out of here without his allies outside catching on.”

“Or maybe more of them are waiting at the end of this absolutely thrilling secret passageway,” Lenneth suggested brightly, “since it  _ was _ the route  _ he _ used.”

“Fairly good odds on that, too,” Anselm agreed. “Be ready. They won’t be expecting us to find this route, at the least.”

They weren’t. When the passageway opened into what looked like a cellar, two bored-looking folk leaning against a doorway on the other side of the room scrambled to attack, but Anselm and Lenneth, armed and ready, took them down quickly and quietly. Lenneth glanced to Anselm as she sheathed her knives and bent to examine the first body while he was doing the same with the second. “I’m not going to get into trouble with the watch for this, right?”

He looked askance at her. “I do know what self-defense looks like.”

“What if they thought they were just defending this...um...cellar against us?”

“Lenneth, can you make yourself useful while you ask pointless questions? They were most likely guarding the door over there. Keep an eye out for reinforcements while I search the room.”

“Right, boss.” Finding the fallen man as anonymous, based on his pockets, as the one in Grigor’s room, she hopped over to the door, leaning against the frame with arms crossed as she glanced back to the investigator, now swiftly checking inside boxes and barrels. “You did say  _ while _ I ask questions, so I can do that, right?”

Even in the dim light and with his face in profile, she didn’t miss his quick grin. “Only pointless ones. Which that one was, to be fair. Credit for following orders.”

“Less pointless, then: Did you actually find anything in Grigor’s room?”

He paused. “No sign of struggle. Your reasoning from the last day you saw him makes sense: he saw something that alarmed him and fled. The surveillance around the inn suggests that these are the people who spooked him, and that they’ve not yet caught him either.”

Lenneth nodded. “Okay, but I knew that already. What else?”

Anselm pulled a folded bit of paper from his pocket. “A map of this part of the Plains. Several cities and villages, Citlatl included, have been circled. Perhaps he’s looking for something. Or just planning his itinerary. Most likely the cities marked are the places he’s already been, so this may not be of much help to us.” From another pocket, he produced a smaller scrap of paper. “This sketch. Some sort of machine; it looks like a much larger version of the type of devices his rooms were full of. Complete with annotations and figures that I suppose would make sense to Grigor or his colleagues. He’s an animancer.”

She tilted her head. “A what now?”

“The machines. Adra and copper, it’s…” he hesitated, slowly closing the lid of the box he’d been searching before he looked up at her. “I was...on assignment in the Dyrwood, recently. Saw some things, heard some things from my...friend that I was working for there.”

“Oh! Garivald’s sister.”

He stared directly at her. “He mentioned that?”

“Um, not much. He was very  _ apologetic _ ,” she rolled her eyes, “that the case wasn’t moving quicker because the Head of Investigation was on loan to his sister in the Dyrwood. So I assumed…”

“Correctly,” he smiled. “Anyway, it’s not common in the Plains, but animancy has been on the rise -- and occasional fall -- for some time now in the Dyrwood. There’s some controversy associated with their attempts to inspect the soul and cure its ailments. I would hazard a guess that Grigor is a Dyrwoodan name, and that the practice got him in trouble there and drove him  _ here _ .” He strode over to one of the bodies and tugged loose a bracer from its arm, holding it up for her inspection. “I don’t suppose you recognize this?”

Lenneth crept closer, tilting one ear toward the door she was meant to be watching. “It’s a bracer? Hey, we won’t get in trouble with the watch for looting the bodies either, right?”

Anselm sighed. “Evidence in the investigation. You’re going to have to get used to being official, Lenneth. Not the bracer. The tooling -- this symbol on the leather.”

“It...appears to be a key.” Her fingers twitched as she resisted the urge to check her pockets for the key to Grigor’s room.

“I have a theory,” Anselm said without confirming her guess; or perhaps not correcting it  _ was  _ confirming it? “And if I’m right, there is definitely more to your missing person than assumed. I didn’t get much from the soul essences left in his room, after all these days, but a vague sense of...seeking refuge. I think he eluded his pursuers by slipping out this way, though -- there’s some trace in this room of the same essence, but faint. He wasn’t here long. We’ll follow it. It might give us a direction to start in, at least, or perhaps a district to search. And then we’re going to call in a specialist.”

“Oh?” Lenneth brightened, her spirits rising with every word Anselm said.

“Garivald’s sister,” he said. “If she recognizes this key symbol...Well, she’s an invaluable ally. Especially if we do need to read dead men’s minds after all,” he added under his breath as he turned to lead the way out of the cellar. Lenneth followed, silent, alert, and intrigued.


	8. Crows and Doves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something strange is afoot in the skies (and rookeries) of Citlatl. Xipil investigates.

Crouched in the cover of a row of ceiba trees bordering the temple grounds, Xipil voiced his most convincing crow call once more. At his side, Yaotl vibrated with a low whine, eager to inspect the fox pelt propped up as a decoy in the grass, but Xipil shushed him. They waited to see if any of the night-dark birds would fly in, drawn to the hunter’s call, or ganging up to pick a fight with the supposed fox, but the afternoon skies were clear. Could be the other temple hunters were simply doing their job well in the months Xipil had been away. He finally resolved to try again in the early morning, when the crows should be more active. Should be able to get in an hour or two hunting them before Mother would be ready for visitors. 

Yaotl ranged ahead of his master as they walked back toward the temple to stow the decoy pelt. The hound seemed set on reacquainting himself with every rabbit hole and bush on the grounds. Xipil slowed his walk to let him explore longer, and took the long way around, walking parallel to the broad base of the temple. 

An excited bark drew his attention to Yaotl, darting from an achiotl shrub with its spiny red-brown fruits halfway back to his master before barking and running back to the shrub again, nosing at something beneath its branches. Xipil followed and bent to see what his dog had found. 

A dove lay dead there. One of those from the temple rookery? Had it fallen prey to the crows that the hunters were employed to protect the temple birds from? Xipil frowned as he looked the dove over; not a mark on it. 

Nearby, Yaotl barked again, calling Xipil to a similar find: a dead hummingbird this time. Like the dove, pristine but lifeless. The hound sniffed out two more small birds lying still in the grasses before Xipil reached the side door of the temple nearest the chamber where he stored the fox pelt along with the rest of the hunters’ gear. With that tucked away, he took the steps up to the rookery two at a time in his haste.

The coos of the dozens of doves housed in one of the temple’s high towers still filled the space with a crowded and calming hum as Xipil walked between the aviary enclosures. But one in three of the birds he saw looked droopy, listless, their feathers unnaturally fluffed as they hunkered down, clinging to their roosts above seed bowls going untouched.

Along the far wall of the rookery, an acolyte bent to stoke the flames in the chamber’s fireplace. Bits of curly red hair twined loose from the crown of braids circling her head. Her forehead glistened with sweat as she leaned over the hearth, muttering to herself. “Not going to get much warmer. Maybe that’s enough. I’ll change their water again, and…”

She trailed off and glanced over her shoulder to see Xipil watching. “Oh, hello,” she said, swiping sweat from her brow with a sleeve of her robes. Her eyes fell on the bow at Xipil’s back. “Oh. You’re a temple hunter, yes? I think I’ve seen you around.”

Xipil nodded, then looked back to the rows of listless doves. “What’s wrong?”

The acolyte sighed. “Wish I knew. Sometimes a dove gets sick, fluffs up like that and won’t eat, and we isolate it, keep it warm, hand feed it. But look at them. So many. All at once, too. It’s not like one of them caught something and it started spreading. Just all at once, it’s like they’re fading.”

“Since when?” Xipil asked.

She pursed her lips in thought, her ears swooping in low arcs. “A few days? That’s when I noticed they weren’t all eating, at least. Especially the littlest ones. It’s so strange. They don’t seem... _ sickly, _ exactly. Just  _ still _ . They sit there and fluff up and won’t eat even when I try to hand feed them. They stop cooing, stop looking at anything much. The weakest ones started dying yesterday, but even the bigger birds can’t go long without eating.” She swiped the sleeve at her face again, this time aiming not for the sweat but for the corners of her eyes. “I can’t do anything for them. Is it a sign? A plague? I’ve never heard of something like this happening to the doves, but it can’t be anything good.”

Xipil lowered his head in agreement. The acolyte, giving up on the blazing fire, gathered up a pouch of the squash pulp prepared for hand feeding and let herself into a little door in the wire frame of the aviary that kept the birds safe in their roosts. Xipil followed for a closer look at the sick birds, motioning to Yaotl to stay put outside the aviary. While the acolyte tried in vain to coax a dove to take a bit of squash from her fingertips, he tried to provoke a reaction from another of the birds. No amount of stroking its feathers, or rubbing under its beak, or tickling under its wings had any effect. The bird sat motionless and silent through it all, like no dove Xipil had ever seen. It might as well have been dead and stuffed and wired back into place on its branch to simulate -- very poorly -- a live bird. Yet it was certainly not dead yet.

While the two of them were thus occupied with the doves, a quiet  _ thump _ from the other end of the aviary caught their attention. Xipil was nearest. He approached and bent to find that at least one of the affected birds had given up on its simulation of life. Lifting the limp form gently, he met the acolyte’s wide, sad eyes and shook his head. 

“Shining God, forgive us,” she whispered, tense with waiting tears. Outside the aviary frame, Yaotl’s sympathetic whine voiced Xipil’s own sorrow and worry.

He went with her to bury the bird in the temple gardens, along with those Yaotl had found outside, even the hummingbird -- Hylea’s favored side by side with Eothas’. He squeezed the acolyte’s hand when the tears came in lieu of the words she could not find. And when she slipped back into the temple to continue her fruitless vigil over doves that had lost their will to live, Xipil quietly slipped back home, thinking of his mother.


	9. The Specialist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just an ordinary day at the Itzli household when the Head of Investigation turns up looking for a Watcher's help...

It was quiet around the Itzli manor. That morning’s gathering, so many of her children reporting in at once, had clearly tired Izél even more than usual. She had slept until lunch time, during which, over the squash soup that Violet sat spoon-feeding her while Chimalli got some rest himself, she had rallied just enough to ask a few questions about the visitors who had come home with Violet and whom Izél had yet to meet, and to hint once again that it was a lovely time of year for a Coatl-Itzli wedding. Halfway through the soup, Izél gave in to sleep again. Violet’s youngest sisters being several blocks away at the calpulli school by that time, Yaretzi, the only sibling still young enough to be taught at home till he was of age to enter the school, had been admonished to play quietly in the first-floor schoolroom so as not to disturb his ailing mother in her room above him. The efficiency with which Izél’s youngest and most exuberant child nodded and sat down at his desk to silently paint a picture for Mama testified to the thorough resignation with which the household had adjusted to her illness after so many weeks.

Violet answered a knock at the front door, jarring in the midst of this afternoon hush, and found Anselm on the doorstep. An elven woman with light brown hair that reached to her chin, bits of it braided over her ears and other bits pinned back at the crown of her head, accompanied him, smiling broadly but frequently looking over her shoulder as if trying to keep an eye on the whole estate at once. 

“Violet,” he greeted her without preamble, “there’s been --” then winced as if remembering himself. “Sorry. First, introductions. May I present Lenneth Morelli, of Tlanextic,” he waved at the elf, who lit up with a grin and reached to shake Violet’s hand, “whom the watch is assisting in finding an acquaintance of hers who disappeared recently. Lenneth, this is the Watcher of Caed Nua, Violet Itzli.”

Lenneth seemed neither surprised nor confused by Violet’s title, exotic both in her function as a Watcher and in the name of her domain in the Dyrwood; presumably Anselm had briefed her already before bringing her here. But at the surname Itzli, for a moment the elf’s grip in the handshake tightened and her eyes went wide in surprise, then her lips pursed and nose scrunched in confusion -- only for a moment. Then she was smiling again and saying, “I’m so glad to finally meet you!”

“Oh,” Violet said, scrambling to don again the manners of the thaynu of Caed Nua which, in her family home, had seemed safe to tuck away for the duration of the trip and just be Violet. Something in the elf’s soul resonated with Violet’s in that moment, but she resisted the impulse to reach out as a Watcher and delve deeper. It was one thing to stare at someone’s soul when it was on its way back to the Wheel already, or in those moments when another person’s memories overwhelmed her Watcher senses and could not be avoided, but to pry at a newly introduced guest seemed most impolite. “That’s...very kind of you. Won’t you come in?” 

She led them both to the parlor, where Edér and Aloth sat bent over a game board as Yolotli stood by, apparently trying to teach them both the rules of  _ quizaliztli _ . All eyes turned immediately to the new arrivals. “Anselm!” Edér boomed, his eyes crinkling with a mischievous grin. “I bet you play this keeza-whatsit, right? Soon as I’ve got the rules down here, I’m gonna challenge you to a game and beat you.” A vote of confidence came in the form of a meow from the enormous, white cat -- Yaretzi’s pet -- sprawled across Edér’s lap.

“Unlikely,” Anselm replied, returning the man’s grin with the slightest smirk, “but you’re on. Violet, I have a situation that would benefit from your expertise.”

Violet nodded as they all settled into chairs gathered around the players at the game table. “Of course.” She introduced Lenneth to each of those gathered, then nodded to Anselm again.

“I’m investigating a disappearance on behalf of Lenneth here,” he said, signaling to the elven woman to continue.

“Right!” Lenneth leaned forward, hands moving in quick gestures as she relayed the tale. “He’s been gone over a week now. A man named Grigor, whom I was meeting with the day before he disappeared. It was...a business arrangement. While I was there something spooked him and he asked me to come back the next day, but when I did, he was gone. And there were people watching the inn. They’ve been there ever since.”

“What would you make of this?” Anselm brought out from beneath his cloak a worn leather bracer and handed it to Violet, but it was Aloth who suddenly spoke, his voice strained.

“The Leaden Key.” He leaned closer to look at the symbol tooled on the leather along with Violet.

She frowned as she glanced to him, handing him the bracer to inspect. “You’re certain?”

“Well -- you know as well as I do their love of subtlety. It’s rare that they actually display the symbol, unless among the trusted faithful. But it  _ is _ very like the images of it I’ve seen on those occasions.” Aloth turned to Anselm. “Unless some other group in these parts makes use of such a symbol?”

“In that case, I would have recognized it,” Anselm shrugged. “But I think you have the right of it. This was found on one of several suspicious characters who’ve been lurking around the inn where Grigor was last seen. Lurking and subsequently attempting to interfere with the official investigation.”

“Nothing else to identify them?” Aloth asked.

“Not in the least.”

“That  _ does _ sound like the Leaden Key,” he mused, handing the bracer back to Anselm.

Anselm tucked it away again, noting, “It seems to have come down to a race, then, as to whether we or this Leaden Key find the missing man first. Now, I’m confident we can track him -- I followed traces of his essence far enough from the inn to know where to start looking, at least, and I think if they had such a lead they would no longer have surveillance on the inn -- but they might well have the advantage in numbers.” He looked around. “Some of you, however, have the advantage of having faced them before.”

Aloth paled. Edér sat up straighter in his chair, wrapping an arm around the cat in his lap. Violet grinned. “Well, Aloth. I  _ did _ tell you we could find a cell of them to hunt in Ixamitl as well as anywhere else.”

“We?” Aloth arched an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ask you to leave your mother’s side for this, Violet.”

“Of course not,” she said. “My first duty here is to my family. But I don’t like the idea of the Leaden Key nosing around my city, either. I want to spend as much time with Mother now as I can,” she added, twisting her hands in her lap, “but for a good portion of the day she’ll be sleeping. I’ll do what I can to help with the hunt during that time. Count me in, Anselm.” She looked around the room. “But I won’t speak for all. What do you want to do?”

“I’m with you, Vi,” said Edér, reaching for her hand. 

“As am I,” Aloth seconded. “Whatever the Leaden Key are after here, it must be dealt with.”

“I’m in!” Yolotli leapt up. “Xipil’s out hunting for the temple, but I’m sure he’ll want in too.”

“Thanks, Lottie. And Audie?” Anselm asked.

“Out to market, at present, restocking the pantry, since we’ve effectively doubled the size of the household,” Yolotli laughed. “I can’t imagine she’d sit this one out either!”

“We’ll ask her tonight,” Violet said. “Now, where do we start? Finding this Grigor? Breaking up this Leaden Key cell? Or finding out what they’re up to here?”

“Plenty of us for all of the above,” said Edér.

“If we find Grigor we’ll likely find the Leaden Key as well,” Anselm said.

Aloth sniffed. “Or lead them to him.”

Yolotli tapped a game piece on the table. “A red herring. We can plant false clues for them, lead them into a trap while we secretly find him ourselves.”

Lenneth leaned forward. “If I may, finding Grigor is the most important. I mean -- I’m very grateful for any help you wish to offer! And this Leaden Key, they’re definitely a threat, probably not just to him, but the longer we spend dealing with them, the colder Grigor’s trail gets. It’s very urgent that I find him soon.”

“Oh?” Aloth frowned, eyes narrowed, in her direction. “Why is that? A business matter, you said?”

“Yes, it’s…” Lenneth hesitated, tapping her fingers on the chair’s arm, her eyes flitting away and then fixing on Aloth again with a wry smile. “Well, he owes me money. A lot. He commissioned me for parts for some of those machines of his -- you should see them! His rooms are amazing, every bit of space filled up with these devices of adra and copper and --”

“He’s clearly an animancer,” Anselm interpreted.

“-- and I’ve got some skill with machines and things like that, my dad was a tinker and I picked up the trade growing up, and so he’d commissioned me -- I mean Grigor, not my dad -- to make some components he needed. To repair his machines. Don’t think he was from these parts, and he must have brought them all with him and not have everything he needed to keep them running. So that night I met with him, I was going to get an idea of what I needed to make and take measurements and things. Only he got scared and cut the meeting short, so I never got paid the advance he promised, and I’ve already bought materials so...well…” She trailed off as they all looked at her in various stages of thoughtfulness and doubt.

Aloth’s frown and eyes went even narrower. “And you’ve no idea why the Leaden Key is pursuing this man? You met with him; is there nothing else you can tell us about his dealings here? You examined the machines -- what of them?”

She flushed and sat very still, but answered with a faint smile. “I was  _ going _ to examine them. I wasn’t really there long enough to say what they’d be for. And the first time I saw this Leaden Key was the day after Grigor disappeared, so no, I can’t say what they want with him. Maybe he owes them money, too.”

“It’s simply about money, then. No other reason you’re so concerned with finding an animancer.”

“Sometimes survival is simply about money,” Lenneth shot back, dispensing with the charm to simply glare at him now. “This has left me in a tight spot, and I just...don’t have a lot of options.”

Aloth opened his mouth to speak again, but Anselm’s polite cough interrupted. “Perhaps,” said Anselm, turning to Violet but keeping an eye on the elves, “under the circumstances, it would be best for Lenneth to stay here during the investigation, Violet. If we are to be working together.”

His eyes turned back to Violet then, one brow arched, and she caught his meaning.  _ The better to keep an eye on her. _ “Of course,” she said, and her smile was genuine; this newcomer certainly needed keeping an eye on, but at the same time something in her obvious distress -- whatever the true reasons for it -- stirred Violet to compassion. “Lenneth, you’d be welcome.”

Lenneth looked between her and Anselm in surprise and hesitant relief. “That’s...Are you sure? I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“On the contrary, it really would be more convenient to have you here,” Violet assured her. She added, smiling sweetly, “Anselm, there’s room for you too if you’d like to stay. All the team in one spot.”

“I live all of eight minutes’ walk from here,” he reminded her, with a smirk that conveyed his recognition, and approval, of the game she was playing. “Lenneth’s inn, however, is on the other side of town. The Adra Antelope.”

“Absolutely unacceptable,” Violet declared. “Lenneth, go and get your things. We’ll see you here for supper in two hours, all right?”

“Oh...yes,” Lenneth said, blinking. “If you’re sure…”

“Go on,” Violet stood to shoo her out to the front door.

“Thank you,” Lenneth said on her way out, when it was just the two of them in the foyer. “This really means...well. It was getting dicey, keeping that room at the inn. And…” She looked away. “Well, just thank you.”

“Two hours,” Violet reminded her with a pat on the arm. “Going to need your help eating whatever Audie brings home. And probably cooking it, too,” she chuckled. “We all pitch in here.”

“Sure,” Lenneth smiled. She started down the front steps, then turned back with a thoughtful look. “Itzli,” she murmured, looking Violet over carefully. “That’s...a curious name.”

“A common one, in these parts,” Violet shrugged. “Ours is a rather large clan. I have twelve siblings. Four of those already have children of their own. And though my father is head of the clan now, there are numerous other branches descended from uncles and aunts, generations past. It seems the Itzlis have always favored an excess of offspring.”

“Hm,” Lenneth stared a moment longer, then shook her head. “Guess I’ve just heard it around.”

“You’ve met my oldest brother, the mayor. Maybe there.”

“Must be,” Lenneth shrugged, then hurried down the Itzlis’ lane to pay one last visit to the Adra Antelope.

Meanwhile, Violet stepped back into the parlor and nodded to Aloth. “She’s gone.”

“To her inn?” he asked.

Violet grinned, tilting her head. “Would be nice to know that for sure.”

Aloth’s eyes widened, then narrowed in resolution as he got to his feet. “I’ll be sure she doesn’t see me.” 

Violet sat down again as Aloth departed. “You seem to think she’s trustworthy,” Violet said to Anselm as they heard the front door open and close again.

Anselm tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “Her story doesn’t add up, I agree. I’m almost certain her interest in Grigor wasn’t just a business matter. According to the case files, she first told Garivald he was her uncle, and then that he was a mentor whom she thought of as an uncle.”

“But whom she just met for the first time the day he disappeared,” Yolotli recalled, arms crossed.

“Just so,” Anselm nodded to her. “I would rule out the possibility of her working  _ with _ the Leaden Key, given that she wouldn’t approach Grigor’s rooms again until I went there officially and she used that occasion to sneak past their sentries.  _ And _ that she did assist me in getting away from them, including killing two of their number.”

“Wouldn’t put a double cross past them,” Edér warned.

“Fair point,” said Anselm. “She also told me, after following me to his rooms, that she’d met him on a personal, not a business, matter. But on all other points, her story holds together well enough. She certainly needed, and still needs, something from him. She may even have been commissioned to make those parts for his machines; I sensed no lie in her when she said as much. My guess is that she wasn’t doing that work in exchange for payment, however, but for something else that clearly only Grigor can provide, or she’d cut her losses and find other work.”

“It’s still possible that what she needs from him isn’t something we want to facilitate,” Violet pointed out.

Anselm nodded. “Perhaps. But there’s something more to her...I don’t know. Not that she’s harmless, but there is something...familiar to her soul. I can’t quite put my finger on it. What I can read of her surface thoughts is chaotic, full of questions and impressions of the world around her, as if she’s pushed whatever drove her to Grigor far from her own notice and filled its wake with distractions. And a case that involves an animancer, pursued by the Leaden Key and by this curiosity of an elf? Well, I for one am very eager to get to the bottom of this.”


	10. The Adra Antelope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how trustworthy is this Lenneth? Aloth is determined to find out.

_ Think she’ll lead us stret to the hooded fyndes? _ Iselmyr suggested hopefully.

Aloth couldn’t discount the possibility. There had to be more Lenneth wasn’t telling them, and he had noted how earnestly she argued for the pursuit of the animancer, even if it meant leaving the Leaden Key (coincidentally, or conveniently?) unchallenged. But for the moment, Lenneth seemed to be leading them nowhere directly, but taking a most circuitous route, as if she knew she was being followed. 

Fortunately, Aloth had a fair bit of experience with tailing and being tailed. Ferretting out the Leaden Key around the Dyrwood had been much simpler when they kept coming after the Watcher. In his attempts to shut down their well-hidden operations since then, he’d had to learn their tricks more thoroughly than even when he had been one of them. Iselmyr had little patience for these subtleties -- but she could also be remarkably perceptive when he let her take the lead, and keeping up with a mark as slippery as this one seemed to appeal to her competitive nature. Between the two of them, Aloth managed to keep Lenneth in his sights, just barely, as she skirted the temple district, blended with the crowds in three separate marketplaces, doubled back through alleys, and traveled rooftops through a seedier district that turned out to be the home of the Adra Antelope.

Aloth watched her vanish into the inn, not by the front door under the weathered sign painted with the inn’s namesake animal in garish green as far as it could be from the actual color of adra, but through a second-story window. He crept a quick patrol up and down the streets overlooking both that window and that door, waiting to see by which she would emerge. As he turned the corner, he caught sight of a familiarly hooded figure lurking across the street from the Adra Antelope’s entrance. The sight made Iselmyr crow with joy.  _ Our quirry! Ga’on, let’s take this’n oot -- _

Aloth bade her wait. Pausing as if to take his bearings at the crossroads, he counted three more of Iselmyr’s  _ hooded fyndes _ watching the building.  _ I don’t think she’s here to meet with them, _ he grudgingly advised Iselmyr.  _ And I don’t think it’s us she was avoiding, with that route.  _

Iselmyr drew his attention to a fifth lurker, now creeping down the inn’s wall toward the same window Lenneth had entered.  _ Fye, that’s yin she’ll be hard pressed ta avoid. Let’s take that’n oot, fer a start. _

Aloth concurred, already finding the page in his grimoire and beginning to summon the spell. With the last arcane word, the figure on the wall froze in place, halfway through the window, then suddenly peeled away from the wall, his petrified form no longer able to grasp the handholds, and plummeted to the street below.

Just then, the inn’s front door flew open with a shriek of neglected hinges. Lenneth, a travel pack slung over her shoulder and knives at the ready in both her hands, cast a wild look up and down the street and set out in the direction she had come, toward the temple district and the Itzlis. She made it barely three steps before the Leaden Key came after her, three of them suddenly converging from their hiding places. 

She was quick, dodging the first two and landing a blow to the third that got Iselmyr’s blood boiling as Aloth ran to close the distance, already invoking another spell. He loosed magic missiles to knock down the first attacker Lenneth had dodged, then aimed a necrotic lance at the second while she was slicing up the third. Two more hooded attackers joined the fray while Lenneth was stabbing the first as he got back up, but by then the two elves were fighting back to back in a desperate blend of blades and spells that the Leaden Key could not quite keep up with. “Noo ye’re in fer it!” Iselmyr crowed, drawing Aloth’s rapier against those who had come close enough to stop him from completing another spell. 

It was over as suddenly as it had started. Still back to back, the elves circled each other, looking up and down the street for any sign of more  _ hooded fyndes _ coming, but all was clear, quiet now in the wake of the carnage.

Lenneth turned to Aloth, both slowly catching their breath, blades at the ready. Her eyes flitted over him and widened with recognition. “Well,” she finally said. “That was a timely assist. Thank you. I’m guessing you didn’t follow me here just to keep me alive though.”

Aloth flushed, the rapier dangling awkwardly from his hand for a moment while he sought a response that would neither highlight his suspicions nor add to hers. Nothing was forthcoming. “You could have asked for an escort, if you were expecting this kind of trouble,” he chided, sheathing the rapier. “Unless the route you took here was to shake  _ me _ , not the Leaden Key.”

“Just being cautious,” said Lenneth, tucking away her knives and glancing to the cloaks and hoods sprawled with their owners along the street. She blanched and put a hand to Aloth’s elbow, steering him on down the street. “Best we start walking,” she said with the smile of a lass who had not just joined him in a fight for survival against mysterious assailants. “Anselm scoffs at my concerns that I’m going to get in trouble with the watch over all this, but he’s not here to scoff at  _ them _ if they show up wanting to know who murdered five hooded jerks.”

“Six, counting the one in your window,” Aloth murmured. “ _ Were _ you expecting this? Was that why you went in by the window and all?”

“After some of them got a good look at me at Grigor’s this morning, I may have been a little paranoid.”

Aloth glanced back at the bodies. “That’s a valuable paranoia, and entirely justified in dealing with the Leaden Key.”

“Right?” she grinned. Then her face fell. “But not paranoid enough. Didn’t expect  _ that many _ , and I didn’t really think they’d have found where I was staying that fast. I’d have had a problem if you hadn’t shown up. Stupid of me to come alone.” She glanced at him as they hurried down the street. “You really didn’t follow me for your chance at a street brawl, though.”

_ Whit other reason is there? _ Iselmyr wondered, but Aloth admitted the point with a rueful smile. “You didn’t seem exactly the most forthcoming back at Violet’s house,” he said. “I’m prepared to rule out the theory that you were actually working  _ with _ the Leaden Key, given this hour’s developments. I’m still...not entirely convinced everything else you told us is true. Just being cautious.”

She grinned at his echo of her earlier words. “Fair enough. Look, we just met. Maybe there’s...things I don’t want to talk about right now. Maybe later, when I’m sure  _ I _ can trust  _ you _ . I just want to find Grigor and not be killed by more of these thugs chasing him, all right?” Aloth nodded, jaw clenched, not looking at her. Lenneth poked at him, and he twitched, turning to frown at her. “Hey,” she said. “We got off on the wrong foot, yeah? Start over.” She swung around to stand in front of him, stopping him midstride, and stuck out her hand, smiling so broadly her hazel eyes squeezed near shut in merry crinkles. “Hi. I’m Lenneth Morelli. From Rauatai by way of Tlanextic and a bunch of other places in between.”

He raised an eyebrow, then sighed and shook her hand. “Aloth Corfiser, at your service. Of Aedyr and, most recently, the Dyrwood.”

“Aedyr!” she beamed as they resumed their walk. “I’ve been meaning to go there some day. What’s it like? How long have you been in the Dyrwood?” And so on, every step peppered with her rapid-fire questions and Aloth’s baffled attempts to keep up, till they found themselves back at the Itzli manor as if no time had passed at all.


	11. Pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to find an animancer.

“We have three goals,” Violet reminded the team gathered around the table, after supper had been cleared away and the children tucked into their beds. Audie and Xipil, returning from their errands, had readily joined the investigation. Audie had drafted Lenneth into helping in the kitchen -- the most Itzli rite of passage there was -- and Xipil had briefly told his sisters about the strange plague spreading among the temple doves, though that mystery was quickly overshadowed by the greater concern of Anselm’s and Lenneth’s request for help.

Now, the map and sketch Anselm had found in Grigor’s rooms lay spread out on the table, after thorough inspection and much speculation. Counting the list off on her fingers, she began to elaborate. “Most important, find Grigor. Track where he went; find out where he came from, why he was in Citlatl, any background that will shed light on why he ran from the Leaden Key.”

“Because he’s smart enough not to tangle with them,” Edér suggested. Nenetl’s pet ferret squeaked a drowsy counterpoint from his shoulder.

“Fine, then: find out why  _ they _ are looking for  _ him, _ ” Violet amended. She tapped her second finger. “Second, and related: Strike at the heart of the Leaden Key in Citlatl. Find out who is giving them orders, with Thaos gone, or at least who is in charge of this cell. Find where they meet. Look for evidence of their interference in other matters in the city.”

Anselm nodded. “I can look over recent case files with the possibility of Leaden Key involvement in mind.”

“Third,” said Violet, adding another finger to the count, “until we find the heart of this cell, we can at least get in their way as much as possible. Be on the lookout for their agents. Plant false trails to keep them from finding Grigor before we do.”

Lenneth sat forward, looking thoughtful. “Or bait. They were quick to come after me when they’d seen me nosing around his rooms. We get the word out that I’m still alive and still looking for Grigor, and they’ll keep coming after me.”

“Seems risky,” said Audie. “Having to keep fighting them off all the time like that.”

Anselm shook his head. “She’s going to have to keep fighting them off till this is settled, one way or another. Odds are they’ll be after me, too, having seen us both investigating Grigor’s rooms. We can turn that to our advantage by choosing the field of battle. And neither of us,” he fixed Lenneth with a look intolerant of argument, “goes anywhere alone.”

She raised her hands, palms out, defensively. “Works for me. I’ve already had a taste of what happens if I’m out on my own.” She cast a look of gratitude Aloth’s way.

Anselm added, “That also means Lenneth is not best suited for the team that’ll be looking for Grigor. We want her to lead them  _ away _ from their quarry. If it turns out they are indeed tracking me as well, I’ll also have to stay away from that line of inquiry.”

“But you’ve got the best chance of actually finding him,” Yolotli said, tugging at a braid in frustration. 

“We have a lead on where to start, at least,” Anselm said. “I tracked him as far as the temple district. The rest of you can begin asking around there.”

Audie leaned forward, crossing her arms on the table. “So we just go around asking if anyone’s seen an animancer who keeps looking over his shoulder for bogeymen? A description would help.”

They all looked to Lenneth, who nodded, crooking a finger over her mouth as she considered. “Of course. So he’s meadow folk, looked like, a little shorter than Edér here, mostly bald and --”

“Wait.” Xipil’s quiet voice caught them all off guard. As they watched, he stood and slipped out into the hall, Yaotl whining and then following at his master’s heels.

Everyone exchanged confused looks, until Yolotli clapped her hands and sang out, “Oh yes! That’ll be much better.”

“Where’s he going?” Lenneth asked for them all.

“For his sketchbook,” Yolotli explained. “He’s really good. We used to play a game where I’d make up a story and he’d try to draw it before I finished telling it. If you can describe Grigor, in as much detail as possible, Xip will draw what you say and adjust it until it looks like you remember. We can all take a copy around as we ask people if they’ve seen him.”

Anselm’s eyebrows raised. “That’ll be a great help.”

Xipil returned momentarily, sat next to Lenneth, and nodded to her with charcoal poised over paper. Lenneth began again, eyes raised in contemplation of the middle distance as she recalled the man she had met once nearly two weeks ago. Periodically she glanced down at Xipil’s sketch to direct him in refining the details. “Round face. Narrow nose. Thin lips. Clean-shaven. Hm, his jawline’s a little fuller. Yes, that’s better. His ears are --” She waved her hands in an effort to demonstrate the shape. “They don’t stick out much either. Tiny little folk ears, y’know? Rounder than that, though. Um, his eyes are deep-set, blue, and one of them’s milky-blind -- his left eye. Part of the time I was there he wore an eyepatch, but says it bothers him. He’s mostly bald, just a little left on the back of his head and over his ears, grey hair.” And so on, bit by bit, until at last she proclaimed the sketch a valid likeness of the animancer. Xipil nodded and set to copying it on several sheets of paper while the conversation went on.

“We’ll take these around the temple district,” Violet resumed. “Best to go in groups of two or three -- maybe more than that to back up Lenneth.”

“If Lenneth is acting as bait,” Aloth pointed out, “it may be best for her backup to follow at a distance. Spells and blades at the ready.”

Violet nodded. “And if your team does happen on any leads, Lenneth, make a note of it and keep away from there. We’ll send in another team the Key might not recognize. As for the rest of us, we’ll start with the temples and the inns. It’s been several days since he disappeared, so it’s possible he simply took rooms in another inn and is lying low. Or that he sought refuge in a temple.”

“He didn’t seem the religious sort,” Lenneth said.

“Start with the inns, then,” Violet said. “Although Edér and I do need to visit Uncle Patli at the temple of Eothas soon. We’ll start there, and ask around the other temples while we’re in the area.”

“What about Yaotl?” Yolotli suggested. “Xip, couldn’t he track Grigor if we have something for him to scent?”

Xipil nodded and looked to Anselm. “Do we?”

Anselm frowned. “We left his rooms intact, but the innkeeper will want to clear them out for other patrons soon. I’ll send some watchmen to gather all his things and officially close the investigation there. In the meantime, it’s late, so most of our inquiries will have to wait till morning -- or tomorrow afternoon, for the Itzlis -- but I have an idea where we can start tonight. Lenneth, Aloth, I understand you left a few fallen foes on your way out of the Adra Antelope.”

Lenneth glanced at Aloth and then back to Anselm in alarm. “I thought you said we wouldn’t --”

“You’re not in trouble,” Anselm waved a hand in reassurance. “But you recall when I said that  _ I _ can’t read a dead man’s mind?”

Lenneth looked confused, slowly nodding, but Violet huffed. “Really, Anselm.”

“Well, you can,” Anselm spread his hands as if the conclusion were obvious.

“Not  _ exactly, _ ” Violet protested. “It’s more a matter of --”

“Watching their souls,” he nodded. “Well, there’s a convenient sample of recently released Leaden Key souls back at the Adra Antelope. Or possibly relocated to the morgue by now. If there’s a chance we could learn anything from them, about where their orders came from, why they’re after Grigor...all the things we’re trying to find out...”

“In the Leaden Key,” Aloth said, “such information is given to very few. Still…” he glanced to Violet.

Edér nodded and took her hand. “We’ve seen you get to the bottom of bigger mysteries than this, talking to souls.”

Slowly, Violet nodded. “All right, then. Let’s go see if they have anything to say.”

* * *

They returned to the Adra Antelope en masse, and on guard in case of another attack. If any more of the Leaden Key were watching the inn now, however, they were keeping their distance from the pair of watchmen poking around.

Anselm hailed his colleagues as he approached. “Any progress here?”

The watchmen looked up, startled to see their Head of Investigation looking over their shoulders, as it were. “Sir! Ah...no, sir...that is...yes, just doing a basic...er…”

His partner stepped in. “As we understand it, there was some sort of street fight.”

Anselm arched an eyebrow as he looked over the scattered bodies lying along the street. “Yes, that seems about right.”

“But we’ve got no leads yet on what they were fighting about, or what became of them as won the fight.”

Anselm sighed. “Perhaps I can help you there. These kith attacked my assistant, here,” he waved toward Lenneth, who looked awkwardly out from her hiding place behind Edér when she realized Anselm meant her. “My assistant,” he repeated, “whom I’ve deputized, along with these others, to aid in an investigation that is of the highest priority for the mayor as well as for me. So it is very important that we identify these bodies.”

“Oh,” the second watchman said, looking in dubious awe at Lenneth standing unscathed among the cloaked dead. “Right, sir. Shall we…?” He reached toward the nearest body, glancing back to Anselm for permission.

“Momentarily,” said Anselm. “We’ve one more thing to look into here, and after that you may take them back to headquarters. I want to know the moment you determine the identity of any of them.”

“Yes, sir!” said the watchmen, stepping back. 

Anselm turned to Violet. At his nod, she stepped forward, reaching out for whatever remained of the kith who had met their end here between magic and blades.

* * *

_ “My name belongs to the gods and my hand to their service,” the lost soul’s memory echoed through Violet’s senses.  _

_ She’d heard the words before, in what remained of the temple of Woedica beneath Defiance Bay. As the soul’s memory proceeded through the rest of the now familiar passphrases, Violet peered through its eyes, so to speak, at the surroundings. It was no catacomb this time, but an elegantly appointed parlor, not unlike her own family’s. Red drapes shrouding tall windows, marble floors with rugs decorated with the traditional Ixamitl embroidery. It did not quite match the decor of any clan Violet recalled, though it was hard to get a clear view of the rug patterns when the soul remembering this place had been more focused on reporting to receive his orders. _

_ In stark contrast to the elegance of the parlor, the kith present in this memory went hooded, ever protective of anything that could possibly need to remain a secret. Passphrases complete, the soul Violet was watching looked up into the obscured face of his questioner. Whereas the acolyte giving orders in Defiance Bay had been able to do so mind-to-mind, as a cipher, the Citlatl cell seemed to lack such psionic advantages. “The animancer cannot be allowed to live,” this one instructed her agent in a clear, but quiet, voice. “Nor those who may have aided him in his escape. The device in Solace Vale is too important to risk leaving him at large.” _

_ The memory shifted: A room full of animantic devices. This soul and his allies left no stone unturned -- or rather, no machine. Copper tubing was parted from its adra components, inspected for whatever secrets the animancer might have hidden inside, but the searchers found nothing besides the machines themselves. At least, the soul thought, no one could do further harm with these devices once they were scattered around the room in pieces. _

_ Again, a shift: in the street outside the Crossed Candles, a hooded ally whispered to this soul, “The one who came here with the watchmen. She’s been spotted here before, the night the animancer disappeared. We traced her to the Adra Antelope then. It’s possible she had something to do with his disappearance, or that he passed information on to her that we can’t have out of our hands. Watch the Antelope for her return.” _

_ A final shift, to the street outside the Adra Antelope. The door creaked as Lenneth emerged, looking up and down the street. The vision began moving faster. Violet had seen enough -- they all knew how this part went, having heard Lenneth’s and Aloth’s side of it -- but even so, the Watcher found herself now unable to back away into her own consciousness as this lost soul ran after Lenneth, the intent in his mind to capture or kill the elf but by no means to leave her and what she might know about the animancer and his machines at large. Then, the hiss of magic somewhere behind him; something blasted into him from behind and the memory’s view was of the cobblestones. Above him, the sounds of combat raged as his allies faced the elf. And then, one last vision of knives coming at him as he struggled back to his feet -- _

* * *

Violet came back to herself as she slowly became aware of the sound of a heartbeat. Not her own, she realized after a moment. She was warm, and cozy, as if waking up from a nap, but also there was  _ movement _ , and quiet, familiar voices surrounded her.

She drew breath and blinked her eyes open to see Edér looking down at her, first in concern and then with a relieved grin. “Hey honey,” he murmured. “There you are. All good now?”

She stirred, looking over her shoulder to see that she was in his arms, held against his chest in a bridal carry, and they were walking through the streets of Citlatl again. Ahead, she saw Audie arguing with Anselm in low voices. Behind, she heard Yolotli questioning, then Lenneth in reply, and Aloth sounding curt and strained.

“What happened?” Violet asked quietly, looking back to Edér.

“Typical Watcher stuff, at first,” Edér reported. “Then you just dropped. Out cold. Couldn’t rouse you.” He held her closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It was like one of them nightmares you used to have. Scared us all.”

“I think I’m out of practice,” Violet said. “I don’t remember getting so caught up in a soul like that before. When it came to the end, it was -- it wouldn’t let me go. Like its desperation overtook me.”

“Well, there’s  _ some _ in the party,” he nodded in Audie’s direction, “as just about took a piece outta Anselm for putting you in harm’s way like that.” Indeed, it looked like Anselm was not to hear the end of it anytime soon. Audie’s grudges were legendary; she’d barely come to terms with Anselm’s treatment of Violet years ago, even after months of his friendly association with the family at Caed Nua. “Aloth and me, we figured you’d snap out of it like usual. But we’re on our way back to the house, just in case.” The tension in his voice, and relief at having her awake to hear this report, belied his calm dismissal of the episode. Violet wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s all right,” she called to those walking ahead of them. “I’m fine.”

Audie and Anselm turned back at once, her expression of wrath and his of defiant worry both immediately shifting to relief. “Violy!” Audie called out, running back to reach up and hug her awkwardly around Edér’s arms.

“Why are we leaving?” Violet asked. “Shouldn’t I have a look at any other souls that were still there too?”

Anselm shifted awkwardly, with a sidelong glance at Audie. “I had the watchmen finish their inspection and take the bodies back to headquarters. Whatever you saw or didn’t see will have to be enough.”

“Mostly that man’s last moments,” Violet shuddered. “Lenneth, Aloth, I am glad to be on your side, considering the terrifying effect of the alternative. I guess that was what held me in the memory -- the intensity of it, and that soul’s desperation to stop Lenneth from getting away with -- well, whatever information they suspect you of having.”

“Nothing useful, then?” Anselm asked. Audie shot him a fierce glance, from which he took a step back.

“There is something,” Violet recalled, her ears perking up. “I saw him meeting with whoever gave him orders. Not that I could identify her -- they all went hooded. They do like to keep the chain of command obscured, presumably in case any of them are caught,” she mused, and Aloth nodded confirmation. “She was tall, though -- folk, or possibly aumaua. Definitely not orlan, though some of the others in the room could have been orlans or dwarves. I heard her voice -- she was no cipher, like the one in Defiance Bay.  _ And _ ,” she grinned as she looked around at them, “I got a good view of their meeting place. I didn’t recognize the house, but it was a very well-appointed parlor, the sort that would fit right in our neighborhood. I’d probably know it if I saw it again with my own eyes.”

Yolotli bounced on her toes, pressing in closer to Edér and Violet. “But  _ she _ wasn’t an orlan? Then one of the higher clans must be  _ sponsoring _ the Leaden Key, letting them meet in a house like that.”

Anselm brightened considerably at this report, glancing smugly at Audie, only to quickly look away again from her continued glare. “Excellent, Violet. It wouldn’t be out of order for you to go on some social calls to mark your return to Citlatl.”

“If I must,” Violet sighed.

“Not necessary,” Audie put in immediately. “You hate socializing.”

“No, it’s all right,” Violet said. “I want to know who’s lending their parlor to the Leaden Key more than I want to sit at home in peace, Audie.” She glanced up at Edér. “And I’m steady enough to walk now, you know.”

He grinned and shook his head. “Think I’m gonna carry you a while longer. Audie’d have a fit if I put you down and you relapse or something. ‘Sides, this is nice.” He winked at Audie, who rolled her eyes but nodded as she turned to continue leading the way back home. Violet conceded the point with a chuckle, happier than she’d admit to rest her head again on his shoulder and be gently carried home.


	12. Morning Inquiries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first full day of the team's investigations finds the Itzli siblings fielding their mother's probing questions, while Lenneth is dangled as bait in the marketplace to catch a Leaden Key.

As the last notes of the hymn faded away, Izél opened her eyes and smiled up at her children. “Lottie, that was beautiful. It’s been ages since I could go to temple and hear the singing.”

“Not to worry, Mama,” said Yolotli, bending to kiss her mother’s cheek. “We will bring the service to you. I leave the sermon to Violet, though.”

“What?” Violet looked up from the book of Eothasian texts she’d been reading to their mother before the hymns. The younger siblings, gathered with the grown-ups around their mother’s bed before the girls would depart for school and Yaretzi to his lessons at home, giggled.

Izél patted Violet’s knee. “I would love to hear you preach, darling.”

Violet took her mother’s hand, nodding though her fur ruffled. “I’ll...prepare something, then.”

Uncle Patli’s chuckle sounded from the dressing table where he stood mixing up Izél’s draught for the pain. “I also should like to hear that. How about you, Zolín?” He leaned from his apothecary work to ruffle the youngest girl’s hair. Zoe shrugged and looked at Violet.

“Of course, Uncle,” Violet smiled.

“You’re coming to see me at the temple this afternoon, yes?” Patli asked as he brought Izél her potion.

Violet nodded. “We do have much to talk about.”

“I’ll put on the tea kettle,” he winked. “Now, Izél, don’t tire these children out,” he admonished, patting his sister’s shoulder as she laughed faintly. Patli’s eyes narrowed as he looked her over, then turned toward the door, beckoning to the children. “Nenetl, Zoe, I’ll walk you to school. Yaretzi, five more minutes here, and then I believe your brother has work prepared for you.”

Yaretzi groaned, till his mother gathered him close and demanded that he use those five minutes to update her on what he had been learning. He made this report enthusiastically while Patli and the younger sisters departed. Then Xipil led him away for lessons of his own.

Izél sighed as the last of her little ones followed Xipil out the door with one last wave over his shoulder. “I can’t keep up with them anymore,” she lamented to the daughters still gathered around.

Violet, Audie, and Yolotli exchanged sad glances. “It’s all right, Mother,” said Audie. “We’ll be sure they do you proud.”

“You set them a good example, all of you,” Izél murmured. Even with Patli’s potion, she seemed to be tiring already. Her eyes drifted from one daughter to the next, though her head barely turned on her pillows. “I suppose it’s fortunate we have you girls, and Xipil, still at home. Though I had thought I might see you all married by now. Ginny and Zaniyah are settled, after all, and here you still are.” Her tone was wistful, more than scolding, but nevertheless the looks the girls exchanged now were strained.

Yolotli chewed at her bottom lip for a moment, reaching up to unravel and replait one of her braids, before she spoke. “Even Eréndira, and I’m older than her. But Mama, you don’t need to worry about us.”

“Absolutely not,” Audie said with a smile. “You’ve raised us to work hard and make an impact on the world just as we are. Lottie’s published two books already; I’ve been managing the family’s business dealings ever since Papa was appointed to the council and Gar was promoted to mayor; and Vi’s…” she traded a knowing smirk with her older sister. “Well, Vi has a keep of her own to run, and she’s practically the only priest of Eothas in the Dyrwood now. There are things more important than --”

“Audie,” Violet cut her off with a gentle hand on her arm. “It’s all right. Mama, of course you want to see us happy.” She bent to kiss her mother’s cheek and smooth her hair. “But we already are. And...if there comes a point when we could be happily married as well, then...You’ll be there. In our hearts. Even if...if…” She broke off, choked with tears.

Izél closed her eyes and squeezed Violet’s hand, then reached with her other hand for her other daughters. She found Audie first; then Yolotli squeezed in to link arms with their mother. After a while, Izél whispered, “I couldn’t go to Eréndira’s wedding either. I was already sick. But they stayed here a while, the newlyweds, and they came in and repeated their vows for me.” She chuckled. “I’m still not sure he’s good enough for her. But I thought that about Ginella’s husband, too, and look how she’s taken to life on the farm. I shouldn’t worry.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” Violet agreed.

“Still,” Izél said, “being already betrothed makes it a simple matter to arrange the wedding. We could have it ready within days. You and your young man could come here and say your vows for me, too, if I can’t come to temple for the ceremony, Violet.”

Violet sighed. “I’ll...keep that in mind, Mother.”

* * *

Lenneth took a deep breath and sauntered up to the apothecary stand in the marketplace of the Zumetl calpulli’s district. _We’re here,_ Anselm’s reassurance broke into her thoughts, and she managed, just barely, not to break stride nor give any sign she’d heard, other than the totally-natural twirling of a braid around her finger that he’d approved for her _Message received_ signal.

That was one bright side to the prayers she kept hearing, Lenneth told herself. Made it easier to have her new cipher friend tossing thoughts at her so casually. Or -- not really casually; _strategically_. She was bait, but she wasn’t in this alone anymore. Somewhere amidst the market crowds, Anselm, Aloth, and Edér were keeping one eye on her and the other eye out for trouble of the Leaden Key variety. Anselm’s mental link with her seemed to be working, and in theory if she mentally screamed for help when mysterious attackers descended upon her, he’d hear that too.

She’d probably scream out loud, too, just in case.

The orlan behind the stand looked up from measuring out one of her distillations just as Lenneth walked up. “Nochtaca,” Lenneth greeted her, “good to see you again. How’s business?”

Nochtaca glanced from side to side before lowering her voice along with her profile, hunching down over her stand to whisper, “You shouldn’t be here!”

_We maybe have trouble?_ Lenneth brought the alert to the surface of her thoughts where Anselm could readily catch the warning. “Oh,” she said to the apothecary, leaning closer and lowering her own voice as well. “Why? Has something happened?”

“Rumor is the soul healer’s gone missing,” Nochtaca muttered while making a show of very casually (but, Lenneth thought, far too hastily) chopping up some dried herbs. “You were asking questions. Now there’ve been others asking questions; strangers.”

“The watch?” Lenneth suggested hopefully, but the apothecary frowned.

“If they were, they never said so. But some asked about _you_ , too.”

Lenneth puffed an exasperated breath toward her bangs. “Did they make any trouble for you? I don’t want any of this to blow up in _your_ face, Nochtaca, honest --” she glanced down at the woman’s chopping board. “Especially if any of that’s flammable. Look, I didn’t want to come back here, risk leading them to you, but if they’ve already come by anyway…”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t be back,” Nochtaca hinted, brushing herb bits into a tiny jar. “You should go.”

“Of course,” Lenneth nodded, glancing around nonchalantly. “Hey, if they come by asking questions again, send word to the watch, okay? It’ll get to me.” The apothecary raised eyebrows at this odd turn of events, but nodded. “And feel free to let these strangers know I’m still asking questions, too,” Lenneth grinned. “Kind of want a chance to ask _them_ a few, know what I mean?”

Nochtaca stared her down for twelve seconds, then sighed. “You be careful,” she warned, thrusting a small pouch at the elf.

Lenneth looked down at it, then back at the apothecary. “What’s this for?”

“Appearances. Not sending a customer away empty-handed,” she said with a faint grin.

“Oh, right.” Lenneth took the pouch, tossed a coin to the counter. “You gonna tell me what’s in it or is that a fun game I get to play later?”

Nochtaca grinned. “I should let you do that, but no. It’s just ground chilis, for spice. Good on beans. Also good to throw in those strangers’ eyes if they take too close a look at you,” she winked.

“Hot tip,” Lenneth laughed. Somewhere in that part of her mind Anselm had latched on to, she could almost hear him groan. _So far so good,_ she thought back. _A few more stops, I’m sure we’ll draw them out._


	13. Twinvestigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The twins, Yolotli and Xipil Itzli, set out to track down our missing animancer and stumble across something else in the process.

Mama had eaten a bit of lunch and settled down for her long afternoon nap while Papa nodded in the armchair at her side. Audie was taking a turn with Yaretzi’s lessons while Zoe and Nenetl were still at the calpulli school. Violet and Edér had gone to the temple to see Uncle Patli (and, Lottie hoped, maybe convince him to bless their romance so Vi could go on and marry her cute farmboy before Mama worried her out of it). Anselm and Aloth were taking Lenneth around town on another attempt to draw the Leaden Key out in the open, since showing her off all morning hadn’t done the trick yet, but when they stopped by the house for lunch they’d passed on a bit of treasure for the twins: a smelly old shirt the animancer had left behind in his rooms, which the watchmen had now emptied out on Anselm’s orders.

“Come on, boy!” Lottie crooned to her brother’s hound, shaking the shirt at him. Yaotl barked and pranced from side to side, tail wagging fast as a hummingbird flies. “You want it? Let’s go! Follow that scent!”

At her side, Xipil chuckled and shook his head. With a loud click of his tongue, he diverted his dog’s attention back to himself. Yaotl paused his frenetic dance and focused on Xipil with a questioning whine. Xipil grinned at Lottie and then set off toward the temple district. 

“One day,” Lottie sang out, skipping along to catch up with them, “one day he’s going to like me better than you.” Xipil just grinned at her again. Yaotl just trotted from side to side of the street, as curious about every scent in the neighborhood as Lottie herself was about...well, everything, to be fair. She linked arms with her brother as they walked. “Okay, I’ll settle for  _ as well _ as you, then. No?” Xipil shook his head and tugged at her arm to walk faster. Up ahead, Yaotl had his nose to the ground, plowing ahead through the sparse crowds heading towards the temples or walking home for their own afternoon naps. The twins hurried to keep up.

Yaotl’s head came up at the entrance to an inn with what appeared to be a spear -- not a painting of one, but an actual, rusty, old spear -- on the sign over its door. He turned in a circle, twice, before looking back to the twins with the saddest look of defeat. Lottie leaned in to hug his neck as they caught up. “Good job, buddy! You found it!” 

Xipil looked skeptical as he scratched behind the dog’s ear, eliciting an ecstatic thumping of the hind paw. “Think he’s here?” he asked in a low voice.

“One way to find out,” said Lottie, pulling out their copy of the sketches Xip had done yesterday. Xipil nodded, and together they headed into the inn.

The orlan behind the counter looked up hopefully at the sound of the door, then made a face at the sight of the dog. “Welcome to the -- oh. Is it -- er, the dog…”

“Don’t worry, sir!” Yolotli smiled, stepping up to the counter while Xipil waited with the hound near the door. “He won’t be a bother. Housetrained to perfection, that’s our Yaotl!”

The innkeeper frowned. “Well -- all right. Welcome to the Xaurip Spear, then. It’s just we’ve had some problems with dogs in the rooms before, and the mistress don’t like it.”

“Oh, we won’t be staying,” Lottie explained. She pulled out the  _ other _ treasure Anselm had passed on at lunch: the badge from the watch headquarters certifying her as working with the Department of Investigation. Officially deputized. For the duration of solving Lenni’s mystery, at least. “We just have some questions, if you’d be so kind.”

“Oh,” said the innkeeper, eyes going wide. “Don’t want no trouble around here.”

“Why, neither do we,” said Lottie. “And the sooner we track down this man, the less of it there’ll be.” She unrolled the sketch of Grigor. “Have you seen him?”

The innkeeper looked the picture over carefully. “Why -- yes. He was here.”

“Yes?” Lottie prompted, bouncing to her toes in excitement, leaning forward over the counter.

“Stayed here just one night, though. Nearly a week ago?” The innkeeper frowned in thought, then pulled a heavy ledger from beneath the counter and started flipping through the pages. “Let me see now. Yes -- here we are.” He spun the book around, pointing out a hastily scrawled name. “That your man?”

Lottie narrowed her eyes at the signature. “If it is, he’s going by a new name. Otapan? Am I reading that right?”

The innkeeper nodded vigorously. “Yes, that was it. Thought it a bit odd -- good Ixamitl name, but he was clearly not from these parts. I don’t make a habit of asking too many questions, though. He only stayed the one night. Moved on in the morning, before dawn. Seemed quite distracted.”

“Hm,” Lottie thought, tapping her foot in frustration. “Has his room been rented out since?”

“Oh, yes.”

“So it’s probably too late to learn anything from searching it,” she sighed.

“I’m very sorry, miss,” the innkeeper winced. “Is he...dangerous? If I’d known I was harboring a dangerous criminal under our roof…”

“No worries,” Lottie smiled. “It seems the danger has passed you by. But do let the watch know if he shows up here again, will you?”

“Of course, of course. I’m very sorry I couldn’t be of more help, miss,” the innkeeper said, ears lowering. 

“Oh, no, you’ve been great,” Lottie said. “We know he stopped here, now, and that’s more than we knew before. Thank you so much for your time. Bye!”

Outside the inn, she sighed as Xipil whistled to his dog and they set off again. “Well, it’s a start, right?”

Xipil nodded. He laid an arm across her shoulders, gave her an encouraging squeeze, then hurried after Yaotl.

_ More than we knew before _ , Lottie repeated to herself as the dog once more started searching for Grigor’s scent.  _ That’s always something. _

They were on their way out of the third inn on the animancer’s desultory trail when Xipil stopped, putting up a hand for his sister to wait and whistling for the dog to heel. A moment later, he beckoned to Lottie as he crept around the corner of the inn into a side street. Lottie followed, eager to know what he’d noticed. 

Around the corner, they both stopped in their tracks, gasps and wide eyes directed at two small maelstroms, spinning on their own axes as they drifted slowly down the street. One seemed made of dancing flames, the other of shifting sands. Within both, Lottie thought she could just see faces, hands, writhing within the whirlwind. “Blights!” she squealed. “Oh, my stars! I’ve only ever seen such a thing in a book. Xip?” She glanced to her brother, who nodded as he readied his bow and she reached for her staff. “I’ve read that it’s a mercy to destroy them,” she recalled for herself as much as for him. “To free the souls trapped there.”

He set his jaw and took aim. Yolotli brought up her quarterstaff at a defensive angle and began the lilting words of her favorite chant, appealing to whatever spirits would hear it to aid the twins in setting the blighted souls free -- and keeping them from wreaking on the town such havoc as the epics told of. She bared her teeth in fierce joy as the energy built, as Xipil loosed his first arrow and Yaotl leapt to harry the maelstrom of souls.

This would make a brilliant tale, she thought with glee, when they gathered for supper tonight.


	14. Pilgrim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet and Edér visit her uncle Patli, the priest who mentored her in training as a priest herself and then sent her out to visit the priests of Eothas throughout Eora. She's got a lot to report on from that pilgrimage.

Edér let out a low whistle as he approached the temple, hand in hand with Violet. “Guess our little church in Gilded Vale must’ve looked pretty dinky if this is what you’re used to. Even if it hadn’t been all run down, time you saw it.”

Violet glanced up at him with a rueful smile. “I wish I could have seen it in better times.”

“We thought it was really something,” he admitted. “Folk came from miles around. Even from Readceras, before the war.”

“Well, I was looking forward to it. Uncle Patli spoke highly of the priests he knew there.” She thought for a moment as they started up the long stairway to the public entrance, the enormous double doors on the top story of the temple’s stepped layers. “Of course, come to think of it, I didn’t even enter the priesthood until after the Saint’s War.”

“Awkward,” Edér said, “considering how it ended.”

“Very,” she agreed, with a huff at the irony. “But here, we had no idea any of that was happening. Everything went on as it always had. Once in a while I heard some of the older priests wondering what it meant, that Eothas hadn’t spoken to his followers in a while, that the Dawnstars hadn’t appeared as they used to, but people generally just felt like it was a calm enough time that he didn’t need to. No crises, no wars, just petty day to day needs and conflicts that our god considered us well enough qualified to handle on our own. So we didn’t worry about it much.”

“Meanwhile, in the Dyrwood, we were blowing him up,” Edér sighed. “Would you...if you’d known he was gone, would you have done something different with your llife?”

Violet thought back, just as they reached the top of the stairway and stepped from the afternoon light of the plaza into the Upper Sanctuary, lit by candle and torchlight and by the sun streaming through windows of tinted glass above the altar. Priests and acolytes tended to worshippers who’d come to light a candle or to seek counsel in one of the alcoves set all around the sanctuary. Violet smiled and shook her head. “No,” she answered Edér. “No, even if he’s gone, we’re still here. The world still needs light and redemption and everything he stands for, even if you and I might never know for sure why he behaved so...so unlike himself in the Dyrwood. But regardless of that, and regardless of...his origins, I like his way of doing things. And  _ especially _ while he’s gone,  _ someone’s  _ got to do them.”

“Right,” Edér grinned, squeezing her hand. “So, where do we find your uncle?”

* * *

“Ah! Just in time, my dear,” Uncle Patli said, when the two of them turned up at the doorway of his study, three floors below the Upper Sanctuary. “The kettle’s about to boil.”

“Hello again, Uncle,” said Violet, greeting him with a hug. “I’ve been looking forward to your tea.”

“And I’ve been looking forward to hearing how your pilgrimage went,” Patli said, measuring out the aromatic leaves and lifting the kettle with a potholder to pour. “Now, you --” he glanced at Edér as the guests found seats, “We’ve not been introduced, have we? Goodness, you’re taller than I expected.”

“Uncle, this is Edér,” Violet said. “I brought him with me because…” With both their eyes on her, she flushed. “Well, let me start from the beginning. With how we met. We’ve been through a lot together, and it’s actually quite relevant to my pilgrimage, and…”

“Not to worry,” Patli chuckled, reaching to pat her hand. “I’ve heard some of  _ this _ part of your story from your siblings. Amidst some controversy, to be honest. Ginella and Eréndira were particularly delighted with your new suitor, though Garivald seems to take it as a personal affront.”

“Sounds about right,” Violet sighed. 

“I hope no one’s been outright rude,” Patli said, studying Edér through narrowed eyes. “Especially those who’ve lived long enough to remember the days when the folk of the Plains were constantly at odds with our kind. Peace ought to be an opportunity to forge new alliances, pursue friendships in the interest of our common good, but orlans don’t trust easily, even now.”

Edér glanced between Violet and her uncle. “Helps that I already know some of the family from Caed Nua, I guess. Got a feeling it’d be different if Audie hadn’t taken a liking to me, soon as we met. Most of ’em followed her lead.”

Violet giggled. “Audie, the family trendsetter.”

“I presume your parents are of the same mind as Garivald?” asked Patli, pouring the tea into cups and handing them around.

“I haven’t actually mentioned it to them yet,” Violet admitted. “With Mother so frail, and Papa so tired, it just never seems the right time.” She looked to Edér, ears lowering. “Mama hasn’t even met you yet.”

“Not sure your dad remembers meeting me,” Edér added. “Looks confused every time he sees me and Aloth around the house.”

“Ordinarily, I would advise patience,” Patli said, “but you know, Violet, you may not have long to clear this up. Your mother’s condition is worsening by the day.” Violet nodded, gaze to the floor, as he continued. “Use the time wisely.”

“’Sides,” Edér pointed out, “they probably already heard rumors from the family too.”

Violet nodded again, tapping her fingers on the side of her cup. “That would explain why she keeps hinting for me to take Anselm back.”

“She what now?” Edér sputtered around a sip of tea.

“It’s like I never left.” Violet looked up to her uncle. “I thought I’d gotten past all that. I know Mother doesn’t have much time left, but I don’t want to...to maybe shorten that time further by arguing with her about the betrothal.”

Patli nodded. “The Itzlis take such betrothal contracts very seriously. No less do the Coatls. And they made those arrangements with the best intentions, for you and for both the clans. You must understand, my dear, it’s very hard for them to let go of those plans.”

“I know, Uncle, but…” Violet hunched over her cup, cradling it in her hands, breathing in the soothing aroma. “I can’t do what they ask.”

Patli laid a hand on her shoulder, waiting till she looked up and met his eyes to speak. “No. But you do have to face it.”

She looked back at him for a long while, then finally nodded, straightening in her chair. “Of course. All part of coming home, isn’t it?”

“Just so,” he nodded. “Speaking of which, tell me of your pilgrimage.”

So Violet began the report of her travels. In the five years since she left Citlatl, she had visited and learned from priests of Eothas throughout Eora, to whom her uncle had sent her with letters of introduction. She told her uncle of the churches she had seen, of the sermons she had heard, the words of greeting his colleagues had sent back to him through her.

And she told him hesitantly of Gilded Vale, of the Saint’s War, of the silence of the Scattered God. Patli’s expression sank as Violet and Edér shared history that was common knowledge in the Dyrwood -- and personal experience, for Edér -- yet still only rumor as far away as the Ixamitl Plains.

“We had hoped there was nothing to the rumors,” Patli murmured.

“Is it true, Uncle?” Violet asked. “That Eothas hasn’t spoken to his faithful in all those years?”

Patli shook his head. “I had hoped, perhaps in your travels, you would hear of his word coming to his followers in other lands, where it was needed more. But no, we’ve all noticed it. He has been silent. It seems now we know why.”

“The sun still rises,” she quietly reminded him.

“Never seems quite as bright as it used to,” Edér added, “at least not in Gilded Vale. But it’s there.”

“Just so,” Patli nodded. “This is no time to abandon hope, after all. It will be a glad day when we hear his voice and see his Dawnstars again, but until then we’ll carry on.”

Edér and Violet exchanged a look. She asked her uncle, “You think he’ll return, then?”

“Why not?” Patli shrugged. “The gods are not as kith are, certainly; but if he is gone from this world, where to if not the Wheel from which all return, sooner or later?”

Where, indeed? asked the look that Violet exchanged with Edér this time. The gods might not be as kith  _ now _ , but if they were truly once fused from the souls of many, perhaps they could indeed return like any ordinary, single soul. Only time would tell.

“There is one more thing,” Violet brought up as they finished their tea. “We’re helping Anselm with an investigation. A man went missing and they’ve traced him to the temple district. Have you seen him?” She held out one of Xipil’s sketches.

Patli studied the image closely. “Hm. Certainly a memorable looking individual. A great many people pass through Eothas’ temple, though. If he has been here, he could easily have gone unnoticed among the multitudes.” He glanced up. “May I keep this? Show it around to the other priests? I’ve not seen him, but if he came to light a candle or on any other temple business, he would surely have spoken to one of us.”

“Yes, please do,” Violet said. She stood and hugged the old priest once more. “Thank you for your time, Uncle. We’ll see you in the morning, I presume?”

“And for as many mornings as we can give her,” he murmured, patting her back as he returned the embrace.


	15. Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blights aren't the only strange portent in Citlatl today.

“Violet! Hey, Vi!” The call caught Violet’s attention as she and Edér crossed the temple plaza. They turned to see Yolotli hurrying towards them, face alight with uncontainable excitement. Yaotl ran at her heels, with Xipil following at a more moderate pace. Violet and Edér stopped to wait for the twins to catch up.

Yolotli collided with her sister in an embrace that quickly turned into gripping her arms and dancing around in circles as Violet grinned back, bemused. “Violy!” she said. “You’ll never guess!”

“Slow down, Lottie,” Violet laughed. “I won’t guess  _ what _ ? Did you find Grigor?”

“Well, no,” Yolotli said, pausing in her dance. “But we fought blights! Real blights! Have you ever heard of such a thing?”

Violet looked to Edér. “Not in Citlatl. You saw them, here, in the city?”

“Right here in the temple district,” Lottie nodded. “They’re gone now; we fought them and dispersed them, Xip and me. And Yaotl,” she amended when the dog barked. “It was amazing! They’re much bigger than they look in the books, and --”

“And they don’t really form at random,” Violet said, scrunching her nose in concern.

“In the Dyrwood,” Edér put in, “we get ‘em after a bîaŵac sometimes. Souls get caught in the storm, mixed up with bits of whatever else it picked up, and stuck in that form. Can’t move on to the Wheel.”

“But bîaŵacs always arise near Engwithan technology, in all the ruins the Glanfathans guard,” Violet mused, wide-eyed at the memory of her own fateful encounter with such a soul-storm, and of what she had discovered at the end of the path that storm set her on. “Technology that, in fact, the Leaden Key was involved in reactivating. The bîaŵacs were a side effect of what they were doing in the ruins. Could these blights be caused by whatever the Leaden Key are involved in here?”

“Surely I’d know by now if there were Engwithan ruins within the city,” Yolotli said. “Or something else could be a potential cause of blights, too. I can look into it. Some of my books at home mention blights; or there’s always the Academy archives, and Wael’s temple. Or if there actually was a bîaŵac in town, I’m sure we’ll hear of it. That could hardly go unremarked.”

“Let’s head home, then,” said Violet, “and see what your books say. And how everyone else’s search has gone today.”

“Anselm was going to take Lenni around the Tlacu markets since they didn’t get attacked in Zumetl this morning,” Lottie recalled. “It’s not far. If we go there first, maybe we’ll meet up with them on the way home.”

“Or, we could just go home, which is where they also will be going...but, fine,” sighed Violet when she saw Lottie’s eyes go large and pleading. They set out toward the Tlacu calpulli as Yolotli pumped Violet and Edér for information about all the blights they had ever encountered, adventuring in the Dyrwood where bîaŵacs were not so uncommon.

* * *

In the marketplace of the Tlacu calpulli, Anselm leaned against the mead-seller’s counter, sipping his drink, watching the crowds, and keeping a mental eye on Lenneth as she made her way through the market. So far, the afternoon had been as quiet as the morning. Periodically, thoughts of  _ All clear _  and  _ Another dead end here _  rose to the surface of Lenneth’s mind. Between the updates, he sensed her boredom, more than anything. She’d long since finished checking in with everyone in the city who had helped her find Grigor when she first came here. Now she was just making herself visible, hoping to draw attention. They had hopes of capturing an agent of the Leaden Key alive, for interrogation -- though Aloth contested that it would likely be a fruitless effort, if their agents here were kept in the dark as much as elsewhere. If so, Anselm would settle for removing some of them from play in this race to find the animancer.

The sun was nearing the horizon, though, and nothing much had happened.  _ Wrap it up, _  he sent to Lenneth.  _ Think we can call it a day and head home for supper. _

He saw her, browsing a merchant’s stall hung with colorful embroidered scarves, give the signal that she’d heard. Anselm pushed away from the counter and headed toward the terrace, where Aloth sat pretending to read while keeping an eye out for the trouble they were waiting for Lenneth to draw. “About time to go,” he announced, slipping into the chair across from the elf. “Just as soon as --” He broke off at the unexpected sight, near the market entrance, of a familiar flash of golden hair.

Aloth looked up as Anselm stopped short. “As soon as…? Wait, are you...er...hearing from her?”

Anselm shook his head. “It seems we have company, but not the Leaden Key.” He raised a hand and waved just as Yolotli, scanning the crowd while talking a mile a minute, looked their way. She spotted him, waved back with a bright smile, then grabbed Violet’s elbow and began tugging her toward the terrace. Edér and Xipil, with his hound, followed behind them.

“How fares the temple district?” Anselm asked as the others joined them, pulling up chairs around their table.

“Nothing unusual at the temple,” Violet shrugged. “The twins, however --”

“We fought blights,” Lottie grinned. Xipil shrugged in confirmation.

“Blights?” Anselm turned to her in surprise. “That’s  _ definitely _  unusual.”

Lottie nodded, leaning forward with her hands palm up in that gesture with which she often began a story. “I know! It’s --”

_ Wait, _  the sudden flash of alert curiosity bubbled to the surface of Lenneth’s thoughts, where Anselm was still just barely monitoring them. “Wait,” he echoed, catching at Lottie’s hand so suddenly she froze in the middle of a word.  _ Got a tail. Maybe? _  Lenneth went on.  _ Alley. Butcher. _  And that was all Anselm could intercept of her thoughts before they went quiet.

He stood, dropping Lottie’s hand as she too scrambled to her feet. “The alley behind the butcher’s shop,” Anselm told the group. “Lenneth might have something. Let’s go.”

* * *

The Tlacu marketplace was a feast for the sensations. But Lenneth had spent all morning browsing pretty much the same textiles, weapons, jewelry, and foods, in calpullis throughout Citlatl, and by now she had stopped really noticing the goods she was looking at. (Except the sweets. She’d found honeyed dates at the confectionery over by the cobbler’s shop that were to die for. But hopefully not literally, considering this whole  _ acting as bait _  thing, she corrected herself as she strolled past the butcher’s shop on her way back to rendez-vous with Anselm and Aloth.)

In the absence of paying attention to the goods, she’d amused herself with people watching. She’d lived in the Ixamitl Plains -- in Tlanextic -- for a little while now, enough to get almost as used to orlans as she had been with aumaua, growing up in Rauatai. But Tlanextic was something of a crossroads, with travelers passing through the Plains from all over. Citlatl was something else entirely, and she was fascinated with all these short, fluffy people. The market made a good place to observe, to train herself to spot differences, anomalies,  _ tells _ .

The lack of kith other than orlans also made her wonder if the Leaden Key, whose agents thus far had included many savannah folk and not so many orlans, would refrain from falling for her bait out here in the open. They’d certainly be easy to spot if they did come after her. Or, on the other hand, maybe they’d actually put a team of orlans together this time and sneak up on her properly.

In fact, there was one orlan in particular she thought she’d spotted several times now as she wandered from shop to shop. Brown hair, delightfully nondescript,  _ never _  looking directly at her. But she was almost certain she’d seen him keeping a reasonable distance from her as she exited the confectionery and then again as she browsed the scarves with the needlework almost as fine as what her sister could do. So it was time to test her theory -- and their whole  _ bait _  plan.  _ Wait, _  she thought hard enough for Anselm to hopefully hear, where he was waiting for her to show up so they could call it a day.  _ Got a tail. Maybe? _  And just past the butcher shop, there was a nice little alley that would surely appeal to such a tail. Thinking the location back to Anselm, she turned into the alley as if that had been her planned route all along, popping the last of the dates in her mouth.

It tasted of honey and some spice -- cardamom? -- and  _ victory _  as, halfway down the alley, two kith materialized from the shadows to block her path. They didn’t bother with hoods this time, nor with blending into the local population: a folk woman and an elven man. Lenneth stopped walking, looking between them as if surprised.

“Oh, excuse me,” she said cheerfully. “Um. Do I know you?”

They spoke no word of answer, but both at once raised heavy books -- grimoires, Lenneth realized in a moment of panic -- and began to invoke their spells.

_ Anselm? _  Lenneth thought desperately.  _ Hi! Trouble! _  She dodged as one wizard’s magic missiles slammed into the cobblestones where she’d been standing, ducked and rolled as the second wizard loosed a cone of ice her way. From the marketplace, she heard a sudden commotion and glanced that way just long enough to see several more attackers closing in -- but behind them, several familiar faces. “Ha!” Lenneth cheered, then shrieked in pain as one of the wizards caught her in a ray of fire that went on burning even as she darted forward with her knives out, gritting her teeth against the pain, in hopes of stabbing at its source.

A pillar of light slammed into the female wizard, knocking her to the ground. The fire went on blazing. Lenneth leapt for the male wizard, who threw up some sort of flaming shield just as her knives reached him, leaving her burnt once again as she struck. Lenneth growled and danced to the side as he began an attack spell, but from behind her came a sudden bolt of arcane energy, knocking him off balance before he could finish casting. Fire be damned: Lenneth danced in and finished him off, feeling the heat of his shield once more and grimacing at the scent of the ends of her hair burning, along with a bit of the skin at her elbows where her bracers ended, probably -- but as the wizard dropped, so too did the ray of fire that had latched on to her. She stumbled back to see that the female wizard was caught in some sort of stasis field: perfect, excellent, the whole point of luring these people in to attack her was to capture one, right? So she turned back to the reinforcements -- both the enemy’s and her own -- that had turned up at the entrance of the alley.

They were fairly evenly matched, though it looked as if the other side had brought mostly casters this time: more wizards, what looked to be a priest wearing a symbol of Magran (great, more fire was all she needed now), and an orlan whose mace glowed with the same purple soul whip she saw now wreathing Anselm’s sword. But Lenneth’s reinforcements had multiplied to include a handful of Itzlis, Edér, and Xipil’s dog, who was now tearing into the throat of an enemy archer.

This might just work.

She kept to the shadows, taking opportunities to strike where it would do the most damage. She flung Nochtaca’s powdered chilis into the enemy cipher’s eyes, sending his mace off course just as it was about to slam into the back of Violet’s head. She tripped one of the wizards and was about to cut his throat, when all of a sudden the sky above lit up like noontide.

Everything seemed to slow.

Everything from the cobblestones below to the laundry lines strung overhead across the alley glittered in arcane light.

Lenneth glanced to Violet, thinking the priest had invoked some sort of Eothasian thing, but Violet looked as caught off guard as everyone else. Her hands were raised as she recited a battle prayer, but the look of resolution on her face slowly shifted to confusion when nothing much seemed to happen.

Leneth looked around to see the same confusion spreading among the enemy casters -- and Anselm, Aloth, Lottie, all baffled as their spells failed to take effect.

Lenneth looked up to the sky, not rosy at sunset as it should be but brighter than the dawn. It was...not the sky itself that glowed, she realized. And then the memory struck.

“By all the gods,” she gasped. “The Haven! Who invokes the Haven?” Visions overtook her: Citlatl, but smaller; temples, half-built; the light, powering up and spreading over the whole city, even the parts not built yet. But not like  _ this _ . It was too much; it could not sustain such light. She shook her fist at heaven, blinded from within as the battle raged around her.

Until it was Lenneth herself who was being shaken, and she snapped out of the memory and looked down to see Violet peering at her in concern.

“It’s all right,” the little priest soothed. “It’s over. You’re all right, Lenneth.”

Lenneth gasped and crumpled to the stones at her feet, jostling one of the burns on her arm from the wizard’s attacks painfully against the ground as she landed in an awkward crouch. Violet knelt down with her as the rest of her allies gathered around.

Lenneth dared a look at the sky and saw it still glowing. Perhaps not as bright as before? Could she have imagined it? Whatever she had seen,  _ something _  was still unnaturally bright. “What happened?” she whispered.

Violet arched an eyebrow. “I was hoping you might know something about that,” she said, “from what you said when it appeared.”

“What?” Lenneth scrunched her nose quizzically at the priest. “Me?”

“I wasn’t aware you spoke Engwithan,” said Violet, watching her very carefully.

Lenneth stared agape at her, trying to remember what she’d said. “Do I?” she finally squeaked. “Oh gods. Oh  _ gods _ , is that what it is?”

Violet tilted her head up to Yolotli. “Did  _ you _  recognize what Lenneth said?”

Yolotli frowned, crossed her arms, shook her head. “I wish! It wasn’t Katl, nor Aedyran, nor  _ Eld  _ Aedyran, nor Vailian. And I think I’d have at least recognized the sound of Rauataian even if I couldn’t tell what it  _ meant _ , so scratch that off the list.”

“But I understood it,” the Watcher said with a slow smile. “The Haven.”

Lenneth’s eyes went wide, looking from Violet up to the sky. She thought for several long moments, trying to remember what she had shouted. The words were out of reach now, but the Haven -- yes, that was the gist of it. “Can we,” she began, trying and failing to get to her feet. Edér reached in and caught her, giving her a hand up and a shoulder to lean on once she was standing. “Thanks,” she said. “Can we...go home? There’s a lot I should tell you. But not here. And I’m famished.”


	16. Confessions for the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out, and the clan comes to visit.

Blights in the city streets. Doves dying for no reason. Attacks in the marketplace. Lights in the sky -- still glowing, no matter how thoroughly the drapes in the parlor were closed -- and words only Lenneth and the Watcher understood. There was much more to chew on than what would soon be passed around the table for supper tonight.

But it had to wait. The city was on edge when the glow in the sky persisted well past sundown. A citywide panic had begun to spread when the Haven first appeared, but when it was followed by no clear calamity or urgent threat, just the ominous persistence of the domed light, citizens had begun to come out of hiding and cautiously go about their business.

Almost as soon as Violet and the rest stumbled in from the Tlacu marketplace, with wounds to bind and the results of their various inquiries to discuss, some of the Itzli siblings who no longer lived at home had begun stopping by the family manor, checking in on one another. If, as the glowing skies seemed to portend, the end of things had come, they would face it together. And if not -- well, strange omens in the sky were something to talk about when calling on your sister who’d come home from her five-year pilgrimage.

Ordinarily, Lenneth would have been delighted to meet so many new people, but her visions and outburst during the fight in the marketplace had drained and disoriented her. Ordinarily, Edér would also enjoy himself in such a crowd, especially having already met most of them when the clan visited Caed Nua, but they were here to see their mother and to see Violet. After meeting with her uncle today, Edér gathered that it might not be the right time to remind her family too much of his interest in her, especially not till Vi was ready to do so herself, so he was giving them some space for now. He and Lenneth had settled into a corner of the parlor, along with Aloth, who was perfectly content to keep out of the clan’s notice as they came and went, filling the house up with happy reunions and tense whispers about Izél’s status and worried glances at the light outside the windows.

Lenneth watched the family reunion with wide eyes. “So many of them,” she muttered to Edér.

He chuckled, drawing on his pipe. “Imagine what it’s like if they all show up at once.” She glanced at him, aghast at the thought that there were more Itzlis not yet present. Edér shrugged. “Reminds me of when they all came to visit Caed Nua not long back. Well, almost all. Vi’s parents stayed here with their youngest kids, but most of her brothers and sisters made the trip with their families. Even that one.” He pointed out a toddler -- or perhaps a bit younger; Anselm was currently balancing the boy on his hip while talking to Garivald, so perhaps this little one was more of a crawler. “He was a wee babe when they visited. Least I think that’s the one. Don’t see any other kids the right age, so…”

“Is he Anselm’s?” Lenneth whispered. “I didn’t realize.”

“Nah, that’s his nephew,” Edér clarified. “Baby’s parents are...er...there, I think that’s them. Corbus and Evine, ‘cept I didn’t see much of Evine at Caed Nua, what with her having the baby to look after, but I think that’s her. Corbus and Garivald both married sisters of Anselm’s, so that’d be his nephew  _ and _ also Vi’s. Between Gar and Corbus, there’s something like eight nieces and nephews now that Vi and Anselm both can claim.”

Lenneth narrowed her eyes as if debating whether to believe him. “I’m gonna need a chart to keep up with this clan,” she lamented.

“I’ll second that,” Aloth said. “I don’t know how Violet kept track of so many siblings even  _ before _ they started having children.”

“Well, you’d add them one at a time, I guess. It’s not like us, seeing them all at once.” She tilted her head at Aloth curiously. “Not from a big family yourself, I take it? Any siblings?”

He exchanged a look of  _ I’ve made a terrible mistake _ with Edér as Lenneth’s attention turned to him. “I...ah...no, none. Which was probably for the best, with my...family situation.”

She looked about to press him further, but Edér came to his rescue. “Only had one brother myself, and he was killed in the war.” He tapped the pipe against his arm with a wistful glance around the parlor. “Kinda nice, a big family like this.”

“I suppose so, once you get to know them,” Lenneth allowed. 

“Now, what about you?” Edér pointed the pipe at her. “You started this; your turn to tell us about your family.”

She shrugged, looking at the pipe rather than meet anyone’s eyes. “Just a sister left now. We weren’t very old when our parents died, and we’ve been on our own ever since. Plus...well, we had a little brother, but he died young.” 

“Sister’s back in Tlanextic?” he guessed.

Lenneth nodded. “She’s married now. So it’s sort of just me left, after all.”

“Nah,” Edér corrected, leaning forward. “It’s you, and your sister, and your brother-in-law. And probably more, before you know it. Nieces and nephews. Maybe not as many as Vi’s,” he winked, and she laughed. 

“For my sister’s sake, I hope not!”

“And don’t forget,” he nudged her with an elbow, “you got us now, too. Right, Aloth?” Edér raised an eyebrow and a corner of his mouth at the elf as he sat quietly following the whole exchange.

Startled into the conversation, Aloth stammered, “I...yes?...Er, yes, of course.” Lenneth smiled, dazzling with gratitude, and he hazarded an honest smile in return.

* * *

Most of the clan stayed only a short time, some of them peeking in on Izél, who slept through it all. Violet’s brother Nico -- the one born immediately between her and Audie -- had come to stay for supper, though, along with his wife and three-year-old daughter and a bag of groceries, intending to treat them all to his version of ricepan. In addition, the recently married Eréndira and her husband were persuaded to stay and add her cashew cakes to the menu.

Thus, the commotion of the clan was scarcely diminished by the time supper began. Especially when more relatives -- and neighbors, part of the Itzlis’ calpulli even if not directly related to their clan -- kept stopping by all during the meal. The light in the sky drove everyone out of their homes and their comfort zones, seeking explanations and seeking the solidarity of a shared crisis. With all the interruptions, by the time those gathered for supper had finished off the last of the ricepan (delicious) and the cashew cakes (including the one Lenneth stashed away in a pouch for later), by the time dishes were washed and Nico and Eréndira and their families were on their way home and the littlest Itzlis were sent to bed, it was nearly midnight.

Except you could hardly tell, with the sky still lit up as it had been for hours.

The team at last gathered in the parlor, wearily sinking into chairs and couches and even stretching out on the floor. Violet went to the windows and drew open the drapes. The eerie light washed over the room. 

Audie stood in the middle of the floor, looking around at those assembled. She nodded to the window. “So,  _ that _ happened. Almost as much excitement in the middle of Yaretzi’s math lesson as it must have been in the middle of the fight I hear you all got into. Theories?”

They all looked to Lenneth, who shifted in her seat. “I don’t know, honestly. I don’t know how I knew its name,  _ or _ why I knew it in...some language I definitely don’t know. And I really don’t think I know any more than that.” She sighed. “But I keep  _ remembering _ things, somehow, so maybe the Haven is one of those things and...there’s more I’ll remember later? I  _ wish _ I knew. That’s why I wanted to find Grigor, to be honest.”

Violet nodded and came to sit by her. “Start at the beginning.”

Lenneth nodded and drew a deep breath. “So, I was...in a church. In Tlanextic. Um...not as a worshipper, sorry, Violet. It was part of a con -- well, that hardly matters now; definitely missed the window to pull that one off. Anyway, I was in the church and heard the priests reciting a prayer and...I  _ knew _ it. Which was weird, because, you know, I normally don’t visit churches much.”

“Except for cons,” Anselm clarified with a smirk.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Lenneth shrugged. “So I’d never heard this prayer before, I’m sure of that. But in that church, I not only recognized it, I -- I remembered  _ writing _ it. Like, I literally had a vision of...myself, I guess? Or someone...writing those very words, in that very church.” She shook her head. “Impossible, right? But since then I keep having more of these...visions, or memories, or whatever. Prayers come to mind that I just don’t think are my own thoughts, because I really don’t know enough about the gods to make this stuff up and I don’t think I’ve heard them before, either. Not...not with my own ears, at least.” Her own ears, at that moment, drooped as she leaned forward, arms crossed over her knees. “So obviously that was a...little...unsettling, you know? Like, am I going crazy? Where do you go to fix something like that?” She looked up, meeting their eyes in turn. “My sister heard of this so-called soul healer traveling through the Plains. Grigor. He’d helped people who I would’ve called crazy, before something like this happened to me,” she laughed. “Thought if I could get in to see him, maybe at least I’d know what I’m dealing with. Best case scenario? Maybe he could cure it.” She sighed and spread her hands. “Worst case scenario turns out to be: he disappears and then the sky goes crazy, and  _ that _ gives me visions too. Because of course it does.”

She hunched back in her seat, having finished her tale, and fixed her eyes on her hands clasped in her lap, trying to hold back the tears. Those gathered regarded her in silence, till Violet reached and gathered Lenneth’s hands into her own.

“I think I know what Grigor would have told you,” she began, “if he’d had time to actually examine you with his machines. Your soul has Awakened, Lenneth.”

Lenneth looked up, brow furrowed with questions, even as others in the room began slowly nodding at Violet’s diagnosis. “Is that...bad?” she finally asked.

Violet smiled and squeezed her hands. “Well, it’s certainly not easy sailing. As you’ve already seen. One of your past lives has returned to consciousness, as it were, presumably upon hearing that first prayer in Tlanextic. Something about that prayer, or that place, or those two things taken together, was important to your soul in that life and it triggered the memories your soul had of them. And now that you’ve remembered one thing, you’re open to other memories of that life.”

Lenneth blinked, her fingers fidgeting within Violet’s grasp. “So, all those prayers...those were...from…”

Violet nodded. “Your past life was religious, that’s clear. But also --” She frowned at the window. “Also had some sort of connection to  _ that _ .”

“Yeah,  _ that _ ’s a bit much,” Lenneth muttered. “So, Awakening...is there any way to stop it? Not that all these prayers and things aren’t  _ fascinating _ , but I’m a little tired of them interrupting things. Especially if it’s going to be crazy things like the... _ Haven _ , too.”

Violet shook her head. “I’m afraid not. You can’t cure an Awakening, or undo it, or put the memories back where they came from. You can learn to live with it, though. You can find a balance.” She patted the elf’s hands. “I’m still finding that balance, myself, but I think I can help you.”

Lenneth’s eyes went wide. “Oh!”

“Besides,” Violet added, “I think you -- or your Awakened soul, anyway -- might be the only person around with any knowledge of what’s going on out  _ there _ .” She nodded to the window again. “That knowledge might be what saves the town. Even if you could unknow it…”

Lenneth tipped her chin up, drawing resolution from Violet’s encouragement. “Right. I see what you mean. There must be more I can remember. I want to help.”

Anselm stood and came over to lay a hand on Lenneth’s shoulder. “Under the circumstances,” he said, “I presume the search for Grigor is no longer your first priority?”

Lenneth blinked and then laughed. “No, I guess that can wait. Don’t know what he could tell me beyond what you just did, anyway,” she tipped her head to Violet. “I don’t want to leave him at the Leaden Key’s mercies or anything, but maybe we should deal with the Haven first.” Nods and murmurs of agreement followed her words, throughout the room.

“Though, first,” Audie suggested, “maybe you all need to get some sleep. It’s late -- not that you can tell if you look out there,” she grumbled at the window, “and most of you have wounds and bruises from that fight, and Xipil’s already asleep in the corner,” she nodded to her brother who had, indeed, curled up at the foot of the chair Lottie was sitting in and gone to sleep, half leaning against Yaotl’s flank. “Go to bed, everyone. If the Haven is still there in the morning, we’ll have at it. Lenni, you let us know if you have any dreams about how to turn it off, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Lenneth grinned, managing only the slightest nod past the creeping exhaustion. Audie smiled back and turned to lead the way upstairs.

The Itzlis drifted away toward their rooms with a chorus of  _ good nights _ back and forth. From her seat, Lenneth watched them go -- Anselm pausing at the front door for a word with Violet before he left to walk back to the Coatl home; Edér carrying the soundly sleeping Xipil up to his room as Yaotl followed at his heels. Finally she stood to make her way up to the little green room in the girls’ wing that they’d given her to sleep in.

“Lenneth?” She turned to find Aloth lingering in the parlor too, wringing his hands and hesitating to look at her.

“Yeah?” she prompted softly, coming to sit in the chair next to him.

“I…” He met her eyes briefly. “First, I owe you an apology. For my rudeness when we first met.”

“Oh.” She chuckled. “You know, I really don’t blame you if you didn’t trust me. I  _ was _ lying about  _ why  _ I needed to find Grigor, and anyway, I’m hardly the most trustworthy sort.”

“I’m not certain I agree,” he murmured before meeting her eyes again. “Look. About your Awakening. You’re in good hands now, you know. Violet knows what she’s doing, as much as anyone can, in these matters.”

Lenneth smiled. “That’s...good to hear. Thank you.”

Aloth nodded. “It helps that she’s a Watcher, of course, and that she’s experienced an Awakening herself. But it’s not just her own Awakening. She has a way of...of collecting people like us, it seems,” he finished with a slight laugh and a sudden tension, clasping his hands together so that the fidgeting stopped.

Lenneth gasped and grabbed at his arm. “Wait, you too?”

He shrugged, confirming it with half a nod and half a smile. “Me too.”

“Really? Oh, that’s -- No, you have to tell me more now. What’s it like? How long have you…?”

Aloth’s smile turned wry. “Do you ever ask just  _ one _ question at a time?”

“It would take longer!”

“I’m not sure that’s true.”

“Okay, for starters, have you been Awakened long? Longer than me, I assume.”

Aloth nodded. “Most of my life. Since I was a child.”

Lenneth’s eyes widened. “What’s it  _ like _ ?”

“Terrifying, at first. Confusing. But, once I understood what had happened to me: annoying, mostly,” he said. “Which is why I spent most of my life fighting it. I’ve...come to terms with it, more or less, largely thanks to the Watcher’s influence, and it’s not all bad, there  _ are _ some advantages, but it’s still often annoying, that intrusion of a presence that just doesn’t really fit with  _ this _ life.”

“Same,” Lenneth sighed. “I mean, it’s sort of intriguing to think that somewhere deep down I might actually know what’s going on with the light out there,” she waved at the window, “but there ought to be less  _ awkward _ ways than springing memories on me like that, right?”

“If only.”

Time passed, not easily marked by the night sky in its current condition, as Lenneth drew out more and more of Aloth’s story and he grew more at ease with telling it. So they were deep in a recounting of how he had come to terms with Iselmyr after so many years spent resisting her Awakening, when Aloth interrupted his own story with an involuntary yawn and Lenneth couldn’t help but echo it.

“Sorry,” she said. “Guess it’s later than it looks, and all that.”

“Indeed,” he winced. “I apologize for keeping you from sleep like this, especially with as much damage as you took before we reached you in the fight today.”

“No, it’s fine,” Lenneth assured him. “Honestly, thank you for this. I’m glad we got to talk. It’s...such a relief knowing it’s not just me, you know?”

“Just so,” he smiled as they stood. He glanced out the window again as they were walking toward the stairs, and frowned. “Am I imagining things, or...is it actually getting darker?”

Lenneth followed his glance, echoed his frown as she peered out the window, then grabbed his hand and dragged him along to the foyer and out the front door for a better look.

They stood on the front steps and stared up at the light in the sky. It was still there, no mistaking that. But beyond it…

“Stars,” Lenneth whispered.

“Were they visible earlier?” Aloth wondered. “When we were all inside. We saw the Haven light coming in the windows but we weren’t really looking out at the sky itself.”

“No, I think it’s definitely fading,” Lenneth said. “It’s...well, you can see  _ colors _ in it now. See, little swirls of green and yellow and look, there, it’s even a little blue and purple? Before, it was too bright to look at and see any detail like that.”

“Hm.” Aloth peered at the dome of now-colored lights swirling over the city, then down at Lenneth. “It’s not...do you remember anything more, seeing it like that?”

She stared at it for a while longer, hugging her arms to herself. Then she shook her head. “No. Nothing new.”

Aloth nodded. “Perhaps in the morning. Come on.” She stirred from her contemplation of the veiled stars at his tentative touch to her arm, and let herself be guided back to the house and up the stairs to sleep. They parted on the stairs, to their rooms in opposite wings of the house, with a smile, and Lenneth, despite the night’s revelations and questions and the burns now itching under her bandages, quickly fell into a sleep devoid of secrets conveyed in dreams.


	17. Morning Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vi and Edér are definitely both morning people, the way they keep ending up making breakfast together in this story.
> 
> I guess maybe Eothasians are predisposed to be morning people though. ;-) 
> 
> This morning, anyway, the Haven is on everyone's minds...

By morning, the Haven was almost completely transparent. Beyond it, the sun shone and clouds rolled over the Plains as on any other day. Beneath it, Citlatl carried on with tentative steps and frequent glances up at what remained of the dome of light.

Zolίn and Yaretzi sat on the steps leading out the kitchen door into the garden, staring up at the sky and speculating about the earlier, much more dazzling version of it, which they had only briefly gotten to see before being sent to bed last night. Violet listened to the children’s chatter as she and Edér prepared breakfast.

“Maybe it was Eothas!” Yaretzi guessed.

Zoe scoffed at her brother’s theory. “Dummy, if it was Eothas he would come at  _ dawn _ , not at  _ sunset! _ ”

“Hey,” Violet called out the door. “Don’t call your brother names.”

Over Zoe’s grumbling, Edér murmured, “Kid’s got a point.”

“I don’t know,” Violet huffed, “after the Saint’s War I hesitate to predict what Eothas would do one way or another.”

“ _ Vi _ ’s got a point,” Edér grinned.

Zoe’s voice came through the door again with another theory. “It had to be magic!  _ I _ think it was a powerful wizard from one of the folk cities, and they’re gonna invade and the light in the sky is to steal all  _ our _ magic.”

“You just say that ’cause you still haven’t learned to cast Lights and the teacher wanted you to have it down a week ago,” taunted Yaretzi.

“You take that back!” Zoe retorted.

“Excuse me,” said Violet, sticking her head with her sternest expression out the door before it could come to blows. “I’m sure I did not just hear bickering out here, because Itzli children most certainly know better than to bicker when there is a very serious phenomenon in the sky  _ and  _ a very ill mother upstairs, but if I  _ did _ hear bickering, there would certainly be no honey on your bread for breakfast. Now go wash up and...and be kind to each other, will you.”

The children muttered apologies and ran to wash up. Violet sighed and turned back to the kitchen to see Edér grinning again. “This is the part I didn’t miss,” she lamented.

“I dunno,” he said, stirring porridge as he hunched over the orlan-sized hearth, “you handled ’em pretty well. Better’n I probably would’ve, anyway.” 

“Plenty of practice, growing up with ten little sisters and brothers,” Violet shrugged. But a moment later she was looking at him thoughtfully over her mixing bowl. “You know, Zoe had a point after all. About the Haven stealing magic.”

“Yeah?”

“When it appeared, I was trying to invoke a battle prayer, and it just fizzled out. No effect. And I think the other magic users were having the same trouble. Remember how Anselm’s Stasis Shell faded and the wizard it was holding got away while we were finishing off the rest of them? And most of them  _ were _ magic users, and after the Haven lit up it was like they barely fought back at all. You and Xipil mostly finished them off while the rest of us were trying to figure out why our magic wasn’t working.”

“Huh.” He paused in the middle of squeezing the fruits whose juice would accompany their breakfast. “So that’s the Haven’s purpose? To steal magic?”

“I don’t know. Purpose...or effect, at least? There must be more to it than that. And I doubt Zoe was right about a wizard from the folk cities casting it. Seems a lot more complicated than a single spell.”

“Group of wizards? Archmage, like Concelhaut?”

“Maybe. But keeping it up this long?”

“It does seem to be fading now.”

“And if you’re going to steal magic, what are you going to  _ do _ with it?”

“Hm.” He took the tray she’d just filled with batter and moved to pop it in the oven, then paused. “Hey, Vi. Why don’t you Bless these muffins?”

“What?” She wrinkled her nose at him in confusion.

“Not to make ‘em rise right or anything,” Edér grinned, “though maybe that’d be worth a try, come to think of it. I mean, try a spell now? Haven’s not as bright as it was last night.”

Violet looked thoughtfully between the muffin tray and Edér’s hopeful smile. “Technically,” she pointed out as she approached, “Blessing something -- someone -- just makes them better at combat. More accurate, able to deal more damage, that sort of thing.”

“Can’t wait to see how it works for muffins, then,” Edér winked. “Maybe accuracy is what they’ve needed all along.”

Violet laughed, shook her head, and tugged him down to be kissed. “You are ridiculous,” she concluded, “but...fine. Why not?” So she took a deep breath, focusing her thoughts to strengthen her will, spoke the words of power and raised her hands as she would in battle…

And the brilliant light of a battle blessing filled the kitchen, shimmering over the muffin tray as well as Edér and herself. Violet shivered with the strength welling up in her muscles and blinked rapidly as the muffin tray -- and Edér’s pleased smirk -- came into sharper focus.

“That’s a lot prettier to see,” he noted, “when I’m not in the middle of a fight. Look, they’re still sparkling.”

They were, indeed, the sparkliest muffins -- well, batter -- she had yet produced. “So the Haven must really have been stopping our magic yesterday,” she mused. “It’s still a little rough right now, actually. It was harder to push that spell through than I’m used to; like back when I was first learning such things. But last night it seemed all but impossible.”

Edér nodded. “Brighter the Haven gets, the more it interferes.”

“Good to know.” She glanced out the kitchen door again as Edér slid the tray into the oven. “Now, if only we could know what makes it get brighter and what makes it fade. And what it’s really for.”


	18. Soul's Parting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Lenneth's soul bears surprises for Watcher Violet.

Lenneth leaned back and stared up at the fading Haven till her eyes were weary. They’d gathered in the garden, after breakfast, after Patli had come to tend to Violet’s mother, after the little girls had gone to school. No one had sent Yaretzi to his schoolroom, whether in oversight or in reluctance to isolate him from the family’s reassurances at such a time. The boy sat on Xipil’s lap, eyes wide as he listened to his older siblings discuss what must sound to him like wonderful portents: blights, animancers, mysterious pursuers, and of course the city’s new dome of light.

“Nothing,” Lenneth sighed when she finally had to blink and look away from the sky. “I remember nothing more about it. I don’t even remember whatever it was I called it before.”

“ _ Iskofa, _ ” Violet supplied the word without looking up from the tunic she was embroidering with one of the local patterns. “In Engwithan, it meant Haven.”

“That’s it, then,” Lenneth shrugged. “And I guess that’s all I’ve got. No new memories.”

Violet looked at Lenneth for a moment, then set down her embroidery and came to sit by her. “There’s something we could try. Normally I would avoid this with  _ living _ souls, and only Watch those that are lost in the world or on their way to the Beyond already. But if you want, I’ll look into yours. No guarantee I’ll be able to see things pertaining to the life that’s Awakened, rather than some other phase in your soul’s history, but…”

Lenneth nodded slowly. “So...you might see who I was or...even...who I am now? Things I already remember?”

“It’s possible. There’s no convenient catalog of memories -- or lifetimes -- to point me directly to what we need. Still, a lifetime strong enough to Awaken tends to be...prominent in a soul’s memory.”

Lenneth chewed at her lip for a moment, then sighed and grabbed Violet’s hands. “Fine. I trust you. We are officially friends now and that means you’ll learn all my embarrassing secrets sooner or later, so have at it. Maybe you can learn one I can’t,” she grinned, though her ears quivered.

“O...kay then,” Violet laughed. She squeezed the elf’s hands in reassurance, then reached out for her soul.

* * *

_ “I thought I might find you here.” _

Violet heard the words as if from her own mouth -- but the voice was not her own; not anymore. It was the voice that had haunted her memories for months after her own Awakening, until speaking with Thaos face to face had allowed her soul’s questions to rest.

But the one with whom she was speaking face to face now, in pursuit of Lenneth’s soul, was not Thaos. An orlan girl stepped back from the altar, smiling when she turned to see who had found her. She looked to be somewhere between Audie’s age and Yolotli’s, Violet thought; but she was of a wilder strain of orlan than those that inhabited Citlatl now, completely covered in auburn fur. Her robes were of similar design to those Violet had seen in the visions that had come to her throughout the Dyrwood, the memories of her soul caught up in the Inquisition. The altar -- this she recognized too, but not only from visions; it burned with candles, and beyond it Violet saw the familiar crowned statue, new and pristine as she had never seen one in  _ this _ life.

_ “Ianthina!” the orlan reached for her.  _ Somewhere outside the memory, Violet felt a shock of recognition at the name -- a  _ name _ , not just  _ acolyte _ or  _ Inquisitor _ or  _ so it’s you _ , for the first time in all her soul’s memories.  _ “You’re back! And just in time. I thought for sure I wouldn’t get to see you again before I set out.” _

_ “I thought we were both to winter here,” Ianthina frowned. “But I hear you’ve been assigned to...something big?” _

_ The orlan’s face fell, but then she looked up again with the earnest light of purpose in her eyes. “The Grandmaster is sending missionaries further abroad than before. To the plains, far to the east and north. Lands to which no one has yet carried the light.” _

_ Ianthina tried to quench the irrational wave of jealousy that struck her at this news. “That’s wonderful, Glynis. It’s what we’ve dreamed of. Spreading the word of the gods, after all they’ve done for us. These plains people...they’ll be lucky to have you.” _

_ The orlan -- Glynis -- nodded slowly as she looked her friend over. “I wish you were going too. Your organizational skills would be invaluable, and you’re good with languages -- we’ll have to learn to speak to the people before we can preach to them. Maybe it’s not too late; if we petition the Grandmaster…” _

_ “No.” Ianthina stopped her, bending to lay hands on her shoulders. “No, he placed you on this team for a reason, but I still have half a year of training before I’m ordained to preach where kith still worship strange gods. You’ve always had a head start on me, Glyn.” _

_ “I know.” Glynis sighed. “Your time will come, of course. And I am excited to begin this mission. But oh, I will miss you.” She caught Ianthina up in a sudden hug, then stepped back and put on a brave smile. She gripped Ianthina’s hands and looked up at her with wide, violet eyes. “Promise you won’t forget me.” _

_ “Never,” Ianthina said. “By the gods that watch over us both, wherever we may go, I couldn’t possibly forget my best friend.” _

* * *

As the vision cleared, Violet returned to herself to find Lenneth still gripping her hands and now staring at her agape. The elf shook her head suddenly, blinked, closed her mouth, looked at Violet, looked at their hands, and uttered a quiet “ _ Whoa. _ ”

Violet gave her a closer look. “You...saw that too, didn’t you?”

Lenneth nodded, darting a curious glance at Violet and then away again. She withdrew her hands from Violet’s to run them through her hair. “That was nothing like the other memories I’ve had. Well, a little like the first one, when I saw myself writing that prayer, but even that was just a brief glimpse. How do you  _ do _ that?”

“Normally I don’t,” Violet murmured. “I mean, it was no different from how I usually see souls’ memories, but normally the person I’m Watching doesn’t get  _ involved _ like that. Most of the time I think they’d be completely unaware I was interacting with their soul at all if I didn’t tell them.”

Lenneth’s eyes narrowed in thought. “You were Watching my memory, but you were  _ in _ it too. I  _ knew _ you.”

“You called me Ianthina,” Violet recalled in a near-whisper, still giddy at finally putting a name to her remembered life.

“You called me Glynis!” Lenneth said, eyes crinkling with a broad grin; she seemed no less giddy at the recognition. “And you were an elf.”

“You were an orlan,” Violet said. “Whatever gods sent our souls back this time must have a sense of irony.”

“Wait, so is that...my...the one that’s Awakened, the one with all the prayers and things? That’s Glynis?”

Violet nodded. “An Engwithan missionary. As...as was I, or would be.” She hesitated and grew still, remembering where Ianthina’s mission had eventually taken her. Just as well that Glynis had been far away by then. Perhaps in the Ixamitl Plains, the Inquisition had been as much a far-off rumor as the Saint’s War now was. The temples throughout the region bore witness that Glynis and her team had succeeded in the cause for which they were sent.

The others in the garden had gathered close while the Watcher peered into Lenneth’s soul. Just then, a tug at Violet’s elbow interrupted her consultation with Lenneth. She glanced round to see Yaretzi standing there, leaning into her and meeting her gaze with wide and wondering eyes as he begged, “Do me next, Violy!”

When Violet realized what he was asking, she had to laugh in surprise. “What, buddy, you want your soul read now?” Yaretzi nodded enthusiastically, and Violet wrapped her arms around him in a hug fierce enough to make the boy squirm before she pulled him up into her lap. Still squeezing him, half to tease and half in affection, she said, “Let’s maybe let your soul grow into this life a little longer before we go poking around in any old ones, hm?”

Audie spoke up next, bringing Violet’s thoughts back to what Lenneth’s -- and her own -- memory had shown. “Lenneth...Glynis, I mean...was a missionary?”

Violet nodded. “The Engwithans, thousands of years ago, sent priests throughout the world to convert everyone to their gods.” She exchanged a look with Edér and Aloth, whose pinched expressions suggested they were thinking, as she was, of what the missionaries  _ hadn’t _ passed on about those gods. But then, Glynis, training along with Ianthina before the Inquisition overtook their cause, before Thaos’ missionaries literally  _ became _ the Leaden Key, must not have known. “That’s why kith everywhere now worship the same gods.”

“So you...Glynis...introduced Eothas and the others here,” Yolotli inclined her head toward Lenneth, speaking faster with excitement. “There might be records. From the building of the temples, the founding of the city. Glynis recognized the Haven, so it must have been created, or at least seen, in that era. I’m sure I can find  _ something _ about it to help us.”

Violet hesitated to dampen Yolotli’s enthusiasm, but… “Lottie, that was two thousand years ago.”

Lottie crossed her arms. “We keep very good records in this city, and the scholarly tradition goes back  _ at least _ that long.”

Anselm interjected with a thoughtful look, “If it’s city records you want, you could start at the mayor’s hall. The archives there have a look as if they’ve not even been visited in two thousand years.”

Lottie brightened and clasped her hands together. “Oh, could I? That would be amazing!”

He shrugged. “I’ve got to go by there anyway and brief Garivald on our efforts.” He nodded to Lenneth. “He’s asked that we set your case aside till the Haven is dealt with, of course.” Lenneth rolled her eyes as Anselm looked around at the group. “I’m starting to think, though, that we might make more progress by dealing with both at once. We have an Awakened Engwithan missionary recognizing this Haven, even as we have the Leaden Key pursuing an animancer who seems to have some history with them. As I understand it, the Leaden Key are often found protecting Engwithan ruins, right?” Aloth and Violet slowly nodded. “So the Haven’s appearance soon after the animancer’s disappearance  _ might _ just be a coincidence, but then again….What do you suppose Grigor knows that the Leaden Key is so concerned about?”

“You think they’re using the Haven against him?” Audie suggested.

Anselm spread his hands. “Or the other way around? Regardless, we’ve got to consider the possibility that there’s a connection. Plus, if the Haven is connected to Glynis and the Engwithan missionaries in any way, the Leaden Key will most certainly take an interest in it, even if its activation yesterday had nothing to do with them or their pursuit of Grigor. We can’t leave them out of our considerations. To which end, I’m going to start looking through my case files for anything the Leaden Key might have been involved with.” He nodded to Yolotli again. “So you’re welcome to come along and start on the archives while I’m there.” 

She nodded enthusiastically. “I would love to. The Academy’s library has some wonderful old tomes and tablets, but they’re mostly philosophical in nature. The city archives ought to be more practical. Or the temple’s?” she asked Violet. “Would they keep records of that sort? From the time when the gods were first brought to Ixamitl?”

Violet pursed her lips in thought. “It’s mostly hymns, prayers, that sort of thing, not historical records.”

“Except,” Lenneth sat up straighter, “those hymns and prayers...I might’ve... _ Glynis _ might have written some of them. She did that one I heard in Tlanextic, at least. Maybe I should look at the temple libraries? See if it triggers any more of her memories, something that would tell us more about the Haven?”

Violet nodded. “And if we’re still after the Leaden Key, I should start paying some visits, keep an eye out for the parlor where I saw them meeting.”

Anselm nodded. “That’ll do. Before we all depart to our research, however, there’s one thing I’d like you to have a look at, Lenneth. And any of you who are free this morning. I want to find out what this Haven actually is -- up close.”


	19. Up Close

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team takes a close-up look at the Haven and draws some conclusions about what -- and why -- it is.

Far overhead, the Haven remained dim -- though it seemed no dimmer than when they had awakened that morning. Whether it would fade further, no one could as yet guess, unless perhaps Glynis would enlighten them.

But here, on the outskirts of the city, it sank to the earth -- or rose from it -- in a marvellous cascade of light, swirling with shades of mostly purples and pinks. They approached and stood at the light’s edge -- Lenneth and Anselm and the rest, save for Violet and Audie, who had other inquiries to pursue this morning -- some eyeing it with curiosity, some with caution. “Here we are, then,” Anselm muttered. “The Haven.”

Yolotli glanced up at Lenneth. “Are you remembering anything else, seeing it this close up?”

Lenneth slowly shook her head. “No. Maybe Glynis never saw it at the edges like this,” she shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

“On to our other tests, then,” Anselm said. “First of all…” He stretched out a hand to the Haven, his eyes gleaming faintly as he turned his mind -- literally -- toward the shining barrier. The others stood poised to intervene if anything went wrong, but within seconds Anselm drew back with a faint gasp. To the clamoring questions of his companions he said, shaking out his hand, “There’s no way I’ll be tracing that. It’s soul essence, to be sure, but such a myriad of fragments, so many soul signatures woven together…”

“Fragments such as we draw from for our magic?” Aloth asked, leaning closer to peer at the arcane light.

“So it seems,” Anselm said.

“Vi’s right, then,” Edér suggested, “about it stealing magic.”

Aloth considered, thumbing through his grimoire. He raised his palm and uttered the words to summon a spell from the pages. After a dubious moment, a sphere of arcane energy began to coalesce in his hand, a slowly spinning ball of light which he allowed to grow for a few seconds before tossing it up overhead to hover. Or, normally it would have hovered, giving light to the party. Within a second, however, the sphere of light was drifting slowly but surely towards the Haven.

Aloth surmised, his tone dry, “It certainly seems to attract magical essence.”

“You didn’t have much trouble casting it, though,” Yolotli noted. “When the Haven first appeared, none of us could draw on our magic at all.”

“My spells are stored in my grimoire,” Aloth explained. “Your chants, as I understand it, compel the spirits -- those same soul fragments that the Haven seems composed of -- to act. My grimoire absorbs and stores those fragments for later use. Perhaps the Haven acts like a grimoire? The essence in it is drawn from the ambient energy that we use in various ways to power our magic, and the Haven stores it.”

“For what use, I wonder,” Anselm said.

“The thing is,” Aloth continued, “if it’s drawing in that ambient energy, that would explain why some of us couldn’t access our magic when it first appeared; it was siphoning off your power supply. But I should still have been able to draw from my grimoire. I can tell when it needs recharging, and it was quite adequately prepared for that fight. The Haven isn’t just stealing magic; it’s...dulling it, somehow, as well. Dampening the effects.”

“You just did a spell, though,” Lenneth pointed out.

“Well, yes,” Aloth allowed. “This...less intense Haven we see today doesn’t seem to be interfering to the extent that it did yesterday, when it was so bright. If it grows that bright again…”

“We’ll all have to be prepared to do without magic,” Anselm concluded.

Edér stroked his beard, stepping closer to the Haven. “So it’s just some magical hoard sort of thing? Storing all the power? Think it’s actually dangerous, up this close, or…?”

“Well, it may be,” Aloth began. “To condense so much essence in a confined space, that could…” 

But before he could finish his thought, Edér was poking at the Haven with the edge of his sword. “Huh,” said he. “Don’t feel anything much.”

Aloth blanched as Edér switched to poking at it with a finger. “Be careful. It could --” But too late: With a brief shout, Edér brought up his shield and barreled straight through the barrier to the other side. He turned around to grin at them all even as they were still drawing sharp breaths to cry out. “Huh,” he said again. “Tingles a little. Long as I’m not on fire, seems okay?”

Anselm crossed his arms, regarding the man with a smirk. “No fire that I can see. The state of your hair suggests a bit of static, nothing more. Please don’t go and get yourself killed, though. There’s no way I could explain that to Violet.”

Edér nodded sheepishly, running a hand through his hair that did little to actually smooth it down, then walked along the edge of the Haven for a few steps, inspecting it from the outside. “Looks about the same over here. Hey, Aloth. Can you cast something through it? A missile or something?”

Aloth frowned. “At what?”

“Well, not me,” Edér said. “Promised not to get myself killed. Rock over there’ll do. Just to see if a spell goes through.”

So Aloth obliged, lifting his grimoire again and summoning a small bolt, then a larger one. Both sailed cleanly through the Haven and impacted against the target rock, the first in a flash of light and scattering of splintered stone, the second in an explosion of dust as the whole rock shattered.

“Okay,” Edér nodded, “so that looked about right. Now come cast one from this side.”

Aloth paled. “If I can. I’ve expended a fair bit of my grimoire’s resources already today, and if the Haven interferes with its recharging…”

“Just one,” Edér insisted. “Got an idea about this thing. And don’t worry, it’s safe enough to step through. Makes your hair stand on end, is all.”

So Aloth drew a deep breath and plunged through to the outside, where Edér greeted him with a friendly slap on the back. As he drew out his grimoire again to find a suitable spell, his eyes widened. “Hm. It’s...That’s interesting. It  _ has _ recharged somewhat.” He glanced over to the Haven. “Passing through this thing...perhaps the essence held within remains accessible so long as the grimoire, too, is within its bounds.”

Anselm’s eyebrows raised. “Good to know.”

Aloth walked along the Haven’s edge to a place a few yards away from those still standing inside its bounds and again launched a spell from his grimoire. Without impediment, the arcane bolt sailed forth at his gesture towards the wall of light, but this time, rather than passing cleanly through as the previous spells had, it crashed against the Haven with a flare of light and a shriek of inanimate wrath.

Edér looked around the group with a satisfied smile. “It’s a shield,” he interpreted, hoisting his own, more mundane shield in demonstration. “City can fire magic out, but no one can fire it  _ in _ .”

Lenneth looked from the group on the inside to the two now on the outside of the Haven, and back again. “Okay, but is it just for magic? Can you two get back in?”

Edér’s smile faded to a concerned furrowing of his brow. “Huh. Hadn’t thought of that.” He approached the Haven and once again poked at it with his sword, then gingerly pressed his shield against the barrier. “Seems okay,” he said. From there it was a matter of once again poking at it with a finger before he finally gathered confidence, raised his shield before his face, just in case, and stepped back through.

He stood for a moment, slowly lowering his sheld and glancing back over his shoulder at the Haven. Aloth fidgeted on the other side and called out, “Well?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Edér said. “Still tingles a little, and it’s -- it sorta slows you down, going through that way. Like walking through porridge. But it wouldn’t stop anyone. Come on back.”

After that, they poked and prodded at the Haven for a while longer, discovering the following: Unlike magic, Xipil’s arrows could be fired through the barrier from either side with little resistance -- but  _ some _ resistance from the outside, no more than Edér’s porridge, slowing the arrow and warping its trajectory ever so slightly. Weapons, however, seemed to have no effect on the Haven itself. Passing through or standing within the coalesced light not only charged Aloth’s grimoire but, when Yolotli stood in its midst, the spirits leapt to the bidding of her chants and invocations with a rapidity that had her dancing on tiptoe with delight. For Anselm, however, the diversity of soul signatures blended into the shield made any attempt at cipher powers akin to grasping at soup with his bare hands.

Lenneth spent several minutes just sitting in the field of light, waiting for inspiration, while the others ran their tests in it, but it seemed to mean nothing to Glynis, or at least not enough to trigger any more handy memories of how the thing worked. Yaotl came to sniff at her after a while, whining in question. Lenneth chuckled and reached to pet the dog, smoothing down his fur only for it to stand on end again in the static of the Haven’s field. 

Xipil followed his hound and sat down next to her. “Hey,” Lenneth greeted him with a smile. Holding her hand out, she watched the Haven’s light play over it. “At least it’s pretty, huh?”

Xipil nodded. “Someone made it to protect the city,” he said, looking out at the plains surrounding Citlatl. Lenneth followed his gaze, and as she did so, the echo of ancient voices sounded in her memory.

_ “We have to protect the city, Glynis. The temples --  _ our _ temples. Show these people  _ our _ gods are stronger, that they will protect this place where they are honored.” _

_ Glynis looked out into the plains, and back at the fledgling settlement of orlans among whom the missionaries had won enough hearts to begin building temples to the new gods. The local style of architecture lacked something of the elegance and ornate beauty of the Engwithan temples, but the orlans here were stirred to devotion as they banded together to raise their strange pyramids of stone. _

_ But the false old gods had their priests, too. Devotion went both ways. And a little of the opposing faith’s zeal could wreak lasting harm on this newborn jewel of the Plains before the missionaries could complete their work. _

_ “Have faith in Him, Who brings the light,” Glynis reassured her colleague, unseen now at the edge of memory, as the divine whisper stirred in her soul. “Beneath the shield of light, Citlatl will thrive in peace and safety.” _

The memory faded. Lenneth blinked, sitting still beneath that shield of light, as her sight readjusted to the modern Citlatl, no longer the humble but growing town that Glynis had seen, but the jewel of the Plains that she had dreamed of. Xipil sat silently by, watching her closely. Sometime during the vision he’d taken her hand, holding it now lightly as if to reassure but not to interrupt whatever memory had taken her. They all knew how crucial such memories could be now. And he, of them all, seemed most to sense how disorienting these Awakened memories could be to Lenneth.

She breathed deep. “Yeah,” she said. “To protect the city.” She squeezed his hand and gave him a confident and grateful smile.

Xipil nodded, the creases of his brow easing in relief. He patted her hand and then sat back, fishing in his pouch. A moment later he smiled and pressed something into her hand. Lenneth raised her palm to see a small disc of chocolate. She grinned back at him and bit into it, eyes widening at the gush of honey, tinged with mint, inside the chocolate shell.

“Nico keeps bees,” Xipil explained as he got to his feet. “Nice with the chocolate, hm?”

“Very nice,” Lenneth agreed. She stood and they joined the others, gathered just inside the Haven, discussing their findings.

Lenneth, speaking for Glynis, added her own findings: that the shield was indeed designed to protect the city, and that the perceived threat -- at least in that era -- was from the priests whose gods the Engwithan missionaries had come to supplant.

“So that’s why it’s focused on magic,” Yolotli realized. 

“Yes, but their plan seemed to be for something completely benign,” Lenneth said. “They surely didn’t want it stealing magic from everyone inside, too; how would that make their converts feel safe?”

“Something’s gone wrong with it?” Anselm guessed. “Hardly a surprise, when you think how many years it must have been in disuse.”

“But there must be something about it in the city archives, after all,” Yolotli said, eyes alight. “The missionaries would surely have presented it to the citizens as a boon of the gods. Maybe there’s a record of how it worked!” She turned pleading eyes on Anselm. “The sooner I start looking…”

He nodded. “We’re finished here, I think. Though there is one thing the rest of you can look into while Lottie and I are busy at the mayor’s hall. Xipil, you have a map of the city, yes?” Xipil nodded. “I think we’ll find it useful to note the actual boundaries of this thing, plot them on a map. Looking at the sky, it seems roughly dome-shaped, so I’m curious what might be at the center of that dome. Or if there’s anything interesting along the edges.”

“Border patrol and cartography squad it is, boss,” Lenneth grinned. “If we’re lucky, maybe Glynis did border patrols, too, and she’ll feel nostalgic about it.”

“Carry on, then,” Anselm bade them farewell and inclined his head to Yolotli. “Shall we?”


	20. Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet and Audie pay a visit to Anselm's mother, among others in their search for the Leaden Key's local patron.

Far from the Haven’s edge, Violet looked up from her surreptitious study of the rug and shook her head slightly in response to Audie’s raised eyebrow. Not the pattern she hoped to recognize, though the drapes  _ were _ a red not many shades removed from what she had seen in the memory of an assassin’s soul.

It would have been the height of irony, nevertheless, to discover that the Leaden Key had been meeting in the parlor of the  _ Coatl _ manor. Still, Audie had insisted on ruling no one out until they had taken a look, in person. And it made sense to begin their social calls with one of their nearest neighbors and closest family friends.

Anselm’s mother, Joveta Coatl, her black hair, streaked with elegant grey, neatly rolled up and pinned on the top of her head and sparkling with rubies even for this informal morning call, smiled smugly at the sisters over her teacup. “We knew you’d come home sooner or later, Violet. Youth must have its grand gestures, but you never were the sort to put up with a wandering life for long.”

Violet prepared to subtly kick Audie’s ankle if necessary, but it wasn’t Citlatl she thought of as she said, “No, I think my wandering has come to an end.”

“Really,” Joveta went on, “it seems a waste of five years now, doesn’t it?”

Violet had the sense that Audie was likewise preparing a subtle kick. Years as the thaynu of Caed Nua, however, had prepared her to smile serenely and reply, “Five years go by so fast. But is anything ever really wasted? Every experience shapes us in some way.”

Joveta scowled. “At any rate, I am sure Anselm’s relieved to have you back. I’ve noticed he’s spent more time at your estate than at ours since you all returned to town.”

_ Back as in to Citlatl, or back as in to our betrothal? _ Violet wondered, restraining the laugh that Joveta’s coy wording almost teased out of her. Out loud she managed only, “Well, we are --  _ all _ of us,” she added just a bit pointedly, “working with him now on an investigation.”

“Someone’s got to figure out what’s going on with that strange light,” Audie added.

“Of course,” Joveta said, with a glance at the window. “And I’m certain my boy will get to the bottom of it if anyone can. Surely he’s told you about the mysteries he has solved for Garivald, while you were off on this journey of yours?”

_ A journey that involved an unexpected lot of mystery-solving on my part, as well,  _ Violet reflected.  _ So that’s one thing we have in common now, after those five years. _ “He’s done better than that,” she told his mother, smiling with genuine appreciation for the Anselm she knew now. “He’s solved quite a few in the Dyrwood, in the time he and my siblings,” she nodded to Audie, “have been staying at Caed Nua.”

Joveta perked up, ears angling and eyes going wide with anticipation. “Oh? Well, of course! He’s very clever. But I had not heard of his solving any cases while visiting you. He tells his mother so little, these days,” she lamented. “I took it for granted, of course, that he was spending time with you, reestablishing your engagement -- perhaps even beginning plans for the wedding?” She arched an eyebrow at Violet as she sipped from her teacup. 

Violet exchanged a glance with Audie, whose eyes narrowed at the implication that the Coatls, at least, had not heard the rumors about Edér. Or that Anselm’s proud and indulgent mama was simply determined to ignore them and interpret events to her own liking. Either way, while Violet had no wish to lead Joveta on in assuming that the betrothal was intact, it would hardly do for her to confess otherwise to Anselm’s mother before explaining matters to her own parents. 

As she turned back to Joveta, blinking and opening her mouth in hopes of discovering, just in time, the right thing to say, Audie came to her rescue. “Wouldn’t you like to hear about some of the cases he solved at Caed Nua?” she suggested.

Joveta brightened, distracted from the prospect of gossiping about her son’s potential nuptials by the promise of indulging in her favorite topic of conversation: her son’s accomplishments. Violet breathed a sigh of relief as Audie launched into an animated account of how they had solved a string of bizarre thefts in Gilded Vale -- more favorable toward Anselm’s role in it than Violet would have guessed possible, with Audie’s reluctance to trust him. But she was an expert at telling people what they wanted to hear, if it suited her goals. And running interference for Violet was always one of her goals.

And to be fair, Anselm had certainly not made it  _ difficult _ to praise his role as Caed Nua’s Chief Investigator. Violet realized, as Audie went on to recount his exploits in tracking and rescuing a magistrate’s son lured away by brigands and held hostage not far from Dyrford, that she and Anselm had something else in common now: a choice to make when the Itzlis’ vigil for their mother came to an end. Edér had asked Violet, as they traveled through the Ixamitl Plains, whether she would return to the Dyrwood or remain in Citlatl when that time came. She had deferred that choice between her ancestral home and the new home she had made at Caed Nua. Now she had to wonder what Anselm’s choice would be -- to resume his position as Chief Investigator for the Watcher of Caed Nua, or as Head of Investigation for the Mayor of Citlatl? Given how he continued to live up to even Joveta Coatl’s expectations in his work for both Violet and her brother, neither of them would be happy to lose his services.

And Violet was a little surprised to find that, having gotten to know Anselm again after all these years, she’d be sorry to say goodbye to a friend if their paths were to part at the end of all this.


	21. The Archives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anselm turns Yolotli loose in the city archives in search of anything pertinent to their investigations.

“Welcome to the archives.” Anselm grinned and, with a flourish, directed Yolotli through the door, its hinges creaking with long disuse. “The  _ deep _ archives. Apologies in advance for the dust.” 

She stepped in, hands clasped to her chest, craning her neck to look from shelf to shelf. The archive took up half of the third floor of the mayor’s hall, and it was crammed with centuries’ worth of books and cracked clay tablets and sheafs of parchment and fragile, forgotten scrolls on shelves and in pigeonholes that nearly reached the ceiling, several times the height of an orlan. From the ceiling and along the walls, shards of crystal set in adra gave off an undying light, pale and steady, a light they had borne without fail and without variation for as long as Anselm had known this place. He suspected the light itself was older than most of the books. Yolotli advanced to the adra lectern set in a nook between shelves at the center of the room, and Anselm followed. 

She turned in place, a finger on her chin in thought. “Does it...do you think it really goes back two thousand years?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know how much can reasonably have survived from that era.”

“I’ll bet some of the dust is that old,” she laughed, running a finger through the layer accumulated atop a row of leather-bound ledgers on the nearest shelf.

“That dust no doubt comes from the scrolls so ancient they have completely crumbled to...well, to dust, by now.”

“A pity we can’t read dust, then,” she sighed. “All right, where to begin?” She wandered between the rows of shelves, eyes narrowed as she peered at the documents stored there.

“I wish I knew,” said Anselm, tracking her with his eyes as she explored. “I truly don’t think anyone’s been in here in our lifetimes, at least, nor probably our parents’ lifetimes. It seems once they’d filled this archive up they just started filling up a new one. It’s not really any better organized than this, what with our lack of an archivist, but supposedly it holds the past century or so of records.”

Yolotli nodded. “Useless to us, then.” She turned back to smile at him, a flash of teeth and twirl of braids amidst the haze of ancient, arcane light in which the motes of dust danced around her. “Not that I wouldn’t love a look at them someday, too, but first things first. Literally! In chronological order!”

“Right,” he said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “First things first. Which, for me, is reporting in to the mayor. You’ll be all right here, then?”

She glanced up from the armful of tablets she’d already begun pulling from a promising shelf. “I could not be any more in my element, you know. Go on, don’t keep Gar waiting. He’ll get to pacing.”

“Can’t have that,” he chuckled. With a farewell nod, he left her to her research and set out for the mayor’s office.

* * *

Garivald was not pacing. He was, in fact, standing at his office window, staring up at the slightly-brighter-than-ordinary sky. At Anselm’s knock on his open door, he glanced back, brow furrowed with the weight of responsibility for the city under that shining dome. 

“Ah, there you are,” he greeted his Head of Investigation, leaving the window to sit opposite him at the desk. “What news?”

“Very little, I’m afraid,” Anselm began. “But some of it is promising.” He passed on to the mayor what they had learned or guessed about the Haven in visiting its edge that morning, emphasizing its apparent defensive nature, though omitting any allusions to Lenneth’s Awakening as the source of some of their insights. Garivald needed no new reasons to distrust the elf.

“So for the moment, at least, it seems fairly benign,” Anselm concluded. “It shouldn’t stop anyone from coming and going beyond city limits. If it gets brighter again, we can assume it will interfere with magic in the city. But it’s most likely not a prelude to calamity.”

Garivald sighed. “That’s reassuring, but how long are we going to have to live with it? People can’t really get back to business as usual so long as this  _ shield _ is up there. Even if we could be certain it was harmless, the city is on edge and the people of Citlatl won’t easily be persuaded to simply ignore strange lights in the sky.”

“We’ll keep looking into it, of course,” Anselm said. “I can’t promise a quick resolution, though. Until we can determine how -- or by whom -- the Haven was activated, how it’s controlled, where it originates...well, Citlatl will just have to live with it. And  _ you _ ,” he inclined his head to Garivald with a rueful smile, “get to convince them of that, Mayor Itzli.”

Garivald huffed, resting an elbow on his desk and his forehead on his hand. “Hm. Well, at least we can call it a shield now. That seems comforting. The only problem is, what is it shielding the city  _ from _ ? If all is well, why do we need a shield?”

“An excellent question,” Anselm nodded. “It might be best to have the militia on call, and be prepared to petition the tlatoani for aid, just in case whoever turned the Haven on knows something we don’t.” He stood, grinning. “Yet, that is. We’ll get to the bottom of this, Gar. Count on it.”

* * *

Anselm returned to an archive as dusty and silent and eerily lit as ever. “Lottie?” he called out, not seeing her at the lectern or anywhere within sight of the door. “Still here?”

“Yes! Up here!” her voice reached him from somewhere deeper within the stacks. He followed the sound, deep into the warren of shelves, but still saw no trace of her.

Until she spoke again from high above and behind him. “Hi!” He twisted and looked up to see her cross-legged on top of a bookcase, surrounded by piles of leather-bound tomes and sturdy-looking tablets. She smiled at him over a heavy book spread open on her lap and twisted one of her smaller braids around a finger. “Crisis averted?”

Anselm arched an eyebrow at her. “The Haven is still lit, but I presume that’s not what you mean.”

“No, the mayor. How’s Gar?”

“Prepared to deal with it,” Anselm shrugged. “Lottie...how exactly did you get up there? No, never mind  _ how _ . Why?”

She gestured to the shelf immediately below her perch. “The oldest ones all seem to be on the highest shelves.” Her nose scrunched in a distant, thoughtful look. “Wouldn’t it be funny if that meant our ancestors were all really tall? Can you imagine, aumaua-sized orlans? No, I suppose that’s not it. Anyway, if I’m going to have to go through the whole shelf, I figured, why keep climbing up here and back down again to read them?”

“Hm.” Bemused, Anselm crossed his arms. “Found anything interesting?”

“Mainly an intriguingly old dialect of Katl that’s going to take some interpreting,” she beamed. “Oh! And two tablets in something I don’t even recognize. I’m going to show them to Violet and Lenni and hope it’s Engwithan. Of course, then I’m going to have to learn Engwithan.”

She looked so enthusiastic at the prospect, clasping her hands and bouncing where she sat, that Anselm couldn’t hold back a smile. “Well,” he offered, “I’ve got case files to go over in my office, looking for traces of the Leaden Key. When you get tired of the dust and the...altitude, you’re welcome to bring any promising books and join me there.”

She bit her lip and cast a dubious look over the stacks of books surrounding her and on the shelf below her. “It might take a while. City annals, temple history, blights, Engwith, anything that might mention the Leaden Key or citywide defenses like the Haven….There are a lot of potential sources in here to narrow down.”

“Well, if you forget to stop for lunch, I’m coming in here after you,” he warned. As he turned to go, her delighted laughter escorted him back through the archives.


	22. Border Patrol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's more to be discovered along the Haven's edge.

There was something simultaneously comforting and disorienting about the proximity of the Haven, after you had been following the path of its edges for more than a few minutes. Aloth had to keep reminding himself not to walk too close to it. As surely as it had drawn in any spell he cast during their tests on it, the Haven seemed to draw the four kith who now walked its border. When they paused periodically for Xipil to mark the boundary on his map, it was as if the memories locked into the shield whispered for their attention.

Just when he had begun to assume that this strange magnetism was the only effect of the Haven to inspire caution, at least so long as it remained this dim, Xipil, scouting ahead with Yaotl, put up a hand for them to hold position. They all stopped in their tracks: Edér, next in line, half raising his shield; then Lenneth, reaching for her daggers; then Aloth, glancing behind them and running a nervous thumb over the page-edges of his grimoire.

Within seconds he heard what must have caught Xipil’s attention. The Haven itself was noiseless, never more than a surreal congealing of light -- of soul essence -- that made no sound as it slowly swirled over their heads and, at the moment, mere yards from their shoulders, unless perhaps Violet could have listened to what those fragments of souls could tell. But up ahead, along the faint curve of the dome’s edge, he could just make out a familiar sound, like shifting sands amidst a nearly inaudible hum of magic.

The group crept forward quietly, and the sound increased ever so slightly. At last, as they dodged around a barn built right over the Haven’s line, the source came into view: a pair of earth blights, hovering around a thin spire of adra standing tall and solitary in the middle of a meadow dotted with pilgrim’s crown.

The party stood at a distance, looking around for sign of any other dangers. Finally, “I think it’s just those two,” Lenneth said, and Xipil nodded. He raised his bow, looking at the others for confirmation. Hesitant looks and shrugs passed between all four of them before Edér chuckled, hoisted his shield, said, “Let’s do this, then,” and charged forward with a shout. Lenneth flashed a wild grin back at Aloth before darting after Edér, veering around to approach the blights from the side while he had their attention -- if such odd entities as earth blights were even susceptible to her flanking tactics. Xipil and Aloth fired arrows and spells with abandon from their comfortable distance, and the four of them together made short work of the two blights.

Within moments, barely winded, they were gathering around the adra spire. It stood -- or grew -- right on the Haven’s border. The crystalline column was scarcely taller than Edér and no wider than the Haven itself. Around it, the soul essence of the shield-wall seemed to thicken and swirl with more energy. 

“Starting to look more like home,” Edér grinned as he walked a quick circle around the spire, taking no notice of the Haven as he passed through it each time.

“It’s adra,” Aloth deadpanned. “It does exist throughout Eora, you know.” From the far side of the spire, Lenneth’s giggle made his ears twitch.

“Meant the blights,” Edér rejoined. “Xip, you think the ones you and Lottie fought before floated in from the edge here?”

Xipil frowned in thought. “That was earlier,” he reminded them. “Before the Haven.”

Lenneth reached a hand toward the adra, not quite touching its smooth surface. “Could they still be connected? I’ve never seen blights in the Plains, before, and here’s two groups of them in as many days. And that first set showed up right before the Haven appeared.”

“They’re formed as a side effect of the Engwithan machines that siphoned souls for Sun in Shadow,” Aloth recalled, exchanging a look with Edér and weighing his words carefully in the company of allies who had not  _ been _ to Sun in Shadow, nor heard the secrets buried there with the greatest of those machines. But speaking of siphoning souls...he stepped closer to the essence-shield flowing around the adra spire. “But perhaps when this thing forms, apparently drawing essence from the environment -- depriving our spells of it -- some of those soul fragments get tangled up in blights, just as they do in the bîaŵacs.”

Edér squinted at the spire. “Think this thing’s doing the siphoning? Seems pretty small, compared to the towers the Leaden Key was messing with in the Dyrwood.”

“And the Haven seems pretty big,” Lenneth laughed.

Aloth reached toward the spire -- like Lenneth earlier, not quite touching its surface, but running a finger through the soup of souls surrounding it. “Yes,” he murmured. “Big enough that it will likely take us all day to walk this perimeter, you know, and we’ve gone less than an hour as yet.” He glanced at his companions to find Edér scratching his beard, Xipil kneeling with an arm around the dog, and Lenneth returning his glance with eyes shrewdly narrowed.

“So there’s more of them,” she followed his reasoning, and Aloth smiled.

“I would wager so.”

“Xip,” Edér turned to the ranger, “you know where we are, right?” Xipil gave him an incredulous look, not bothering to confirm the obvious. Edér shrugged. “Maybe we should mark spires on the map along with the Haven itself, huh?” Xipil grinned and unfolded his map to point out the place where, in fact, he had already noted this spire. Edér chuckled. “Right, then. Let’s go find the next one.”


	23. Lunch and Linguistics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What can be learned from a pair of old tablets in a script Yolotli doesn't know...but Violet might?

The stack of books Yolotli was carrying, when she turned up at Anselm’s office door near midday, reached only to her chin, with which she carefully steadied the stack as she swung the door open and squeezed through. “You haven’t let me miss lunch, have you?” she smiled at him over her load.

Anselm cleared his own mess of case files from a corner of his desk and she gingerly set her stack down. “I see you’ve narrowed the field a bit,” Anselm said, arching an eyebrow as she stepped back and shook out her arms. “And no, but it is nearly that time. What have you found?” He leaned over the desk to peer at the mismatched assortment of codices, tablets, and scrolls as she broke the stack down into several smaller stacks. 

“City annals, mostly,” she said, pointing out several heavy books, their leather covers cracked with age, holding together pages of parchment curled at the edges. “The oldest ones I could find. They don’t quite go back to the founding of the city, but if we’re lucky, this isn’t the first time in two thousand years the Haven has been activated.”

He nodded. “And the tablets?” They looked to be made of baked clay, covered in densely packed writing, some sort of runes he didn’t recognize. Whatever the script was, its edges had worn somewhat smooth over the years. “These are the ones you were hoping are Engwithan?”

Lottie’s eyes gleamed as she ran a finger over the writing, deeply indented into the clay. “They  _ could _ be that old. The writing  _ probably _ isn’t any form of Katl -- I’ve studied some of its archaic forms, and it hasn’t really changed that much in the past thousand years or so. These annals, here --  _ that’s _ archaic Katl. This writing on the tablets doesn’t look likely to have developed into ours, so...I’m hoping it’s Engwithan.”

“What about the scrolls?” He picked up one longer than his arm and peeked cautiously under the rolled edge.

Lottie grinned and took it from him, laid it down atop the case files strewn over the desk, and carefully began to unroll it by the rod anchored within it. “Hold this end?” she asked, and Anselm reached for the knobs of the outer rod while she went on opening it. Swiftly they revealed a massive swath of the finest parchment, on which had been recorded not words -- not  _ only  _ words; he saw bits of text here and there, labels or margin notes -- but the parchment chiefly featured the outlines of a map, in brown and red and fading yellow tones of ink.

“Citlatl,” Lottie said, pointing out what seemed to be the map’s title, in fading red ink, though the script was illegible to Anselm. “Centuries ago. Well past its founding, of course. But old enough to record structures that have long been lost to us. Maybe Engwithan structures, something the missionaries built here. There could be foundations still there underneath whatever modern buildings have replaced them. It could give us some places to start looking for the source of the Haven.”

“Clever,” Anselm said, and Lottie beamed at the approval and ducked her head as she rolled the scroll up again. “It’s more than I’ve found in these case files,” he continued. “If the Leaden Key have been mixed up in any of our unsolved crimes, apart from this Grigor business, they’ve been annoyingly subtle about it.”

Lottie tilted her head, frowning down at the paperwork. “Maybe they just followed Grigor here recently.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “They’ve certainly turned out in force for him so far. Hopefully Violet has better luck matching parlors to the one she saw in that soul’s memory.”

“Let’s go find out,” she nodded, gathering up her please-be-Engwithan tablets. She reached for the annals, but Anselm stopped her.

“We can come back after lunch. You don’t have to take all of this home.”

She pursed her lips, fingers lingering on one weathered cover. “Maybe just one or two?”

“You’re not seriously planning to read them over lunch?” She looked at him as if he had spoken no language she knew -- which, as Anselm was learning, was a challenge in itself. He sighed. “Of course you are. Here, I’ll take those, then.”

* * *

Lunch, with her family and friends packed in around the Itzlis’ dining room table, exchanging their morning’s discoveries with excitement and cautious hope, was a relief after Violet’s tense morning round of socializing without learning anything relevant to their investigations. Joveta Coatl had strained even the Watcher’s well-developed sense of tact, but that was nothing new. Visiting three more neighbors’ parlors after that had taken its toll, however. Violet had used up most of her reserve of graciousness in fending off their well-meaning inquiries about her mother, about her betrothal, about her years of pilgrimage; at this moment, she wanted chiefly an hour of peace and quiet. 

But an hour of Audie teasing Edér and being teased just as heartily in return, and Lottie randomly spouting what she found to be fascinating details from the tome of history she’d brought home from the mayor’s hall as she absent-mindedly swirled landscapes into her rice with her fork while lost in the book, and Yaotl turning on all his charm to beg for scraps, and Lenneth working the miracle of somehow persuading Aloth to answer her endless questions -- all of this would do nearly as well as the hour she’d like to spend meditating in the chapel. Violet smiled at the lively energy of those dearest to her, treasuring their company while she could.

Lottie cornered her near the end of lunch, squeezing in between Violet and Edér and arranging two clay tablets on the table with delicate care. “So, big sister,” Lottie began, tugging at her braids, “about that language you know that I don’t. Is this it?”

“Engwithan?” Violet asked, and Lottie nodded. A glance at the first tablet confirmed it: she recognized the runes, the ones she’d first read at Teir Nowneth. “Yes,” Violet said. “That’s Engwithan, indeed. These were in the archives?”

Lottie nodded, bouncing up and down in delight at Violet’s confirmation. “I knew it! Yes, and there’s half a shelf like them to study, if these aren’t relevant to what we need to know. You can read them, right?”

Violet gave a slow nod as she looked over the first tablet. “I think so. It’s very strange, reading Engwithan. It always feels just a little like...like I’m gradually stepping back into those days when I first knew it.” She glanced around the table and added in a near-whisper, “Into Ianthina.”

At this, Lenneth leaned past Aloth to look closer at the tablets herself. “That’s some fancy writing, for sure,” she said. “Should I recognize it, too? I mean, should Glynis? Is that part of Awakening?”

Violet shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I didn’t remember the language immediately. Nor even on my own. A fampyr tried to teach me a few words to use with an Engwithan machine and, well, in the process it apparently unlocked that part of my Awakened memories. The whole language, runes and everything, just snapped into place all at once.” She shrugged. “I suppose that’s why it always feels so strange to read it. I have the knowledge without the memory of actually learning it the first time.”

“But you could teach me, right?” Lottie asked, eyes wide and hopeful. 

“In time, I suppose,” Violet said, ears flattening in hesitation. “For our present need, perhaps I should just translate this bit for you, hm?” 

Lottie sighed and nodded in resignation. “For now. But there  _ is _ still half a shelf of these to translate. Explain things as you go. I’ll pick a bit up and maybe that’ll help me narrow that shelf down to the tablets most likely to address the Haven.”

Violet brightened. “I can show you the  _ word _ for the Haven, at least,” she proposed. Lottie perked up, clapping her hands before dancing away to grab the scraps of paper on which she’d been taking notes from the city annals while she ate. On these Violet carefully printed the runes for  _ Iskofa, _ Haven, and at Lottie’s prompting she quickly added those for  _ blight _ and for  _ Engwith _ and for  _ missionary _ and  _ temple _ and  _ essence _ and  _ soul _ and the names of every one of the gods and, last but not least, though no one in the group thought it likely this term would ever appear in permanent writing,  _ Leaden Key _ .

Lottie clutched the completed list, reading over it repeatedly with eyes gleaming as she recited the Engwithan words Violet had uttered to match each neatly written string of runes, echoing the Watcher’s pronunciation carefully. “That should cover it. Surely something on that shelf will match.”

Lenneth leaned in again, looking over the list and frowning in concentration, or in disappointment that the runes continued to lack all familiarity to her eyes. Then she sat back suddenly and looked to Violet with a sly grin. “Can you add one to this? How do you write  _ Glynis _ ?”

“Oh, yes!” Lottie caught on. “If anything  _ mentioned _ her -- you -- we’d know for sure it was from the right era.”

“She could have signed something,” Lenneth nodded. “Orders for building the Haven? A letter to its operator? Wait --” she grinned again. “Maybe you’ll find her old love letters. If you do, I  _ really _ have to learn Engwithan.”

Anselm snorted. “I shall have to rethink my every assumption about the archives if an Engwithan missionary’s love letters turn up there.”

Violet shook her head and took the paper back from Lottie, frowning with pen poised to write. “I’m not entirely sure I’m spelling this correctly, but…” She wrote out  _ Glynis _ , or her best guess for the name, hoping that Ianthina’s memory of her friend had the details right. A moment’s hesitation as she looked over her work, then she wrote it again, less neatly -- a signature? Perhaps. Whether such a thing would turn up on these ancient tablets was another matter, but Lenneth looked pleased to see it.

Then she turned to the tablets themselves, skimming over the runes that still managed to be simultaneously familiar and utterly alien. “It’s…” she frowned, narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, traced her finger over one damaged corner of the text. Between memories and her waking mind, she pieced things together. “Something about a militia,” she determined. “A request -- no, an official order -- to increase recruitment. Here it mentions a threat from hostile tribes. This word -- I don’t recognize it? I think it must be a name, one of the tribes or maybe one of their leaders. No -- this one means  _ priests _ . This is the name of one of the priests in early Citlatl? No, no, it’s a priest from the tribes  _ threatening _ the city.”

“That fits with what I saw this morning,” Lenneth reflected. “Glynis was discussing the Haven with someone as a measure to defend the city against tribes still following the old gods.” She leaned closer to see the tablet again. “Does it mention the Haven at all?”

Violet scanned further and shook her head. “No, nothing about that. And nothing more about the hostile tribes. It’s mostly details about the militia recruitment. ‘Hereby let it be known that…’ um...oh, that must be the tlatoani! It’s the Engwithan word for king. ‘That the tlatoani calls to service all subjects of age and...and fortitude to defend the holy city of Citlatl’...really, holy city? Well, I suppose if the missionaries had such a hand in founding it…”

“We do have quite a lot of temples,” Audie pointed out. “Though they’re only one aspect of modern life here. Were the missionaries aiming for something more specifically dedicated to the gods?”

“So it seems,” said Violet, continuing with her translation. “‘The holy city of Citlatl, cradle of the gods, light of the Plains, from the arrogance and blindness of the priests clinging to gods proven false, who march upon the holy city to plunge the faithful back with them into darkness and ignorance…’ It mostly goes on like that. The tlatoani calls for an army to be raised to defend Citlatl against these...heretics.” She blanched as she reached the Engwithan word for that, recalling all too many nightmares about what the cries of  _ heretic _ had plunged the land that once was Engwith into.

Yolotli frowned as she looked over Violet’s shoulder. “Sounds like it could have broken out into quite the war, two thousand years ago. But if it did, surely all the histories would speak of it. This is the first I’ve come across anything about Citlatl being attacked by followers of the old gods.” She glanced to Lenneth. “Perhaps the Haven stopped it all from escalating.”

Lenneth nodded slowly in thought. “And the whole problem just faded away into a footnote in history?”

“Somehow I doubt the Haven could remain a mere footnote,” Anselm muttered.

“If there’s more to find,” Violet said, “Lottie will surely find it.” 

Aloth added, “And if there is no more to find, I’d wager it’s because someone saw fit to cover it up.”

“But everyone who lived during this conflict would have seen the Haven and must have realized if it saved the city from an attack,” Lenneth said.

“And Wael, or the Leaden Key, or the missionaries themselves have had two thousand years since then to hide what was common knowledge at that time, to let the Haven fade into legend and eventually be forgotten,” Aloth countered. “At the time, of course, it would have been useful to the missionaries not just in defending the city but in inspiring the citizens’ faith in the gods. Perhaps you’ll find records of it as a miracle on the city’s behalf. But I suspect its true nature, anything practical, has been well hidden.”

“Well, then it’s high time it came to  _ light _ ,” Lenneth smirked.

Anselm sighed at the pun but nodded. “Which it will, if we have any say in the matter.” He stood and glanced around the table. “I have full confidence in this team. We will find what needs finding. And on that note, I’m sure Lottie’s itching to get back to the archives…?” He inclined his head to her with a questioning smile. 

Lottie nodded, but turned to Violet. “What about the second tablet, before we go?”

Violet turned her attention to it, slipping once more into that state of mind where Engwithan resumed what felt like its rightful place as her native tongue. But this tablet baffled her, full of runes she could sound out but without giving meaning to the resulting words. She worked her way down the columns of runes, muttering these unfamiliar words under her breath as she processed each one. The others watched her, exchanging glances in confusion. Finally, Violet blurted, “Oh!” as she realized what she was seeing. “Names. It’s a list of names, I think. A roster of some sort? Maybe for that militia the other tablet authorized. Or a census? I’m not really recognizing anything else here besides the names.”

“Don’t suppose Glynis is on the list?” Edér asked.

“No, I don’t see her,” Violet shook her head. 

“Huge favor, Violy,” Lottie said. “Could you transliterate the names -- write them out as they might be spelled in modern writing, you know? If these are all people who were in Citlatl in the time period we need to know about, their names showing up in other historical records would be a worthwhile flag for me to look for.”

“Of course,” Violet nodded. “You go dig into the archives again, and I’ll have that list for you tonight.”


	24. Expectations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Vi introduces Edér to her parents. It goes...about as well as expected.

When Lottie and Anselm had set out for the mayor’s hall once more, the others began heading out on their errands as well. Audie went with Xipil to continue mapping the border of the Haven and its adra spires, of which the border patrol team had found five already in the time they spent exploring it before lunch. Aloth escorted Lenneth to visit some of the temples and sweet-talk the priests into granting her access to their libraries. Edér was considering which of these teams to aid, when Violet took his hand and pulled him aside.

“I’m going to take lunch up to Mother and Papa,” she began, lacing her fingers with his and biting at her lip. She glanced up to him, and the corners of her eyes creased with tension. “Come with me?”

It took him a moment to grasp why she looked so nervous about lunch, or about visiting her mother like they’d come here to do in the first place, or why she’d need Edér to help when he hadn’t as yet even met -- “Oh,” he said as comprehension dawned, gathering her hands in his and drawing her closer. “Ah. Course, Vi. I’m with you, sweetheart. Nothing to worry ‘bout. Gonna go fine.”

She giggled -- a brittle sound, not her usual light bubbling of amusement he so loved to hear -- as he bent to kiss the tip of her nose. “Now you sound more nervous than I feel,” she said.

“Nah, it’ll be fine,” he repeated. “Just...y’know, anytime I’ve gone to meet a gal’s parents,  _ officially _ and all, it always sort of...goes to pieces, somehow. If I mess this one up, I’m sorry. I love you, and I’ll be on my best behavior, but…”

Violet smiled and threw her arms around his waist, resting her cheek to his chest. “I already expect this one to go to pieces, dear Edér. But it has to be done all the same, doesn’t it?”

“And now’s as good a time as any,” he agreed, holding her close. “Least with expectations like that, nothing much’s gonna disappoint you, huh?”

A few minutes later, carrying a lunch tray like a peace offering before him, Edér followed Violet up the stairs and into the hush of Mama Itzli’s sickroom. Papa Itzli sat at her bedside, reading quietly to her from a scroll unrolled in his lap. He looked up at their entrance, but Vi’s mother lay still, her eyes nearly closed, lashes fluttering slightly when the reading paused.

“Papa,” Violet said in a quiet voice to match the reading. “We brought lunch.” She glanced to Edér, and he stepped forward, once again feeling as awkwardly tall as he had the first time he met Vi’s clan at Caed Nua. Hadn’t felt that way in months, what with Audie and the twins and Anselm all sticking around and treating him like he belonged among them, tall or not. Like he belonged with Vi.

Which he did. Best behavior, he reminded himself. “Afternoon, sir,” he said affably, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper and trying to smile politely, not grin like a maniac. “Name’s Edér.” 

“Yes,” Papa Itzli acknowledged, looking Edér over with an expression bland enough to rival Aloth at his most deferential.

Edér shifted from foot to foot, stopping himself several times over from blurting out an attempt at conversation that might lead to disastrous ends. Vi’s father finally nodded to the tray. “You can set that on the dressing table, lad. When she’s lucid enough, I’ll see if she’ll take a little of the soup.”

Edér nodded with relief and went to deposit the tray while Vi crept closer to the bed, pulling chairs up for the two of them. “How is she?” she asked, her voice thick with concern -- both for her mother’s health and for the conversation to come, Edér thought.

Papa Itzli shook his head as he gazed down at his wife. But it was Mama Itzli who spoke up, surprising them all. “I’m right here, you know,” her voice came faint but clear. With visible effort, she turned her head toward Violet, barely opening her eyes.

“Well, then,” Vi said, leaning in to take her hand as Edér settled into the chair beside her, “how are you, Mama?”

“Tired,” she replied. Her eyes struggled to focus on her daughter and Edér saw her fingers tremble in Vi’s grasp. “So tired. And nothing tastes right. But I’m glad you’re here, baby.”

“Me too, Mama,” Vi said, her smile stretched thin. “I...I brought someone to meet you. Would you like that?”

Her eyelids fluttered as she slowly shifted her gaze and stretched her hand out toward him. “Always liked meeting people. You...must excuse the state I’m in, though. Not much of a hostess anymore.”

“Not to worry, ma’am,” Edér grinned, clasping her frail hand carefully. “Appreciate your hospitality all the same. I’m Edér.”

Her cheeks, haggard as they were, dimpled slightly as she slowly smiled and slowly spoke. “I heard you the first time. Chimalli reads to me, so I don’t slip away too soon. Reads letters from the family, sometimes his own letters -- from when we were young -- reminds me why I stay.” Edér took the fluttering of her lashes for a drowsy attempt at a wink, and her husband’s sudden blush at being called out for his love letters would seem to confirm it. “So I heard your name, Edér,” Mama Itzli explained. She nodded to him with a dignity and formality even as she lay propped up on pillows. “You must call me Izél.”

Edér nodded back, taking his cue from her formality. “Pleased to meet you. Izél.”

Her eyes on him seemed to be gaining focus the longer they talked. “You’re a big one, aren’t you? I’ve not met many of your kind,” she admitted. “Folk are not often seen in Citlatl, nor we in their settlements. Forgive me if I offend.”

“No, ma’am, not at all -- Izél, I mean -- fact is, we don’t see that many of your kind in the Dyrwood either. Wasn’t sure what to think when I first saw Vi here wandering through Gilded Vale. Course she wasn’t at all what I expected -- but, ah, still got a lot of work to do on those expectations.” He winced, recalling all too many times Hiravias had taken him to task for his presumptions about orlans. And all the times Vi had patiently corrected his ignorance. Now seemed like a good time to shut up, before he said something her parents couldn’t view as graciously as she always did. So he just nodded vaguely and leaned back in his chair, trying not to tower over anyone too much.

“Citlatl is surely a good place for that,” Papa Itzli -- Chimalli -- put in quietly, still watching Edér with that bland expression. “But a long way from home.”

“No distance I wouldn’t go if Vi asked,” he admitted, or maybe boasted, and then wondered if maybe that was getting to the point too fast and hazarded a glance at Vi to see if he should shut up again.

But the corner of her lips turned up when she met his eyes, and then she looked back to her parents and leaned forward, resolute. “Edér was there for me when I was a long way from home, too, you know,” she started.

He had to chuckle. “And you’ve been there for me long as we’ve known each other.” He smiled at her parents. “Traveled with her near a year so she could undo the curse that was on my homeland. She did that --”

“Not without help,” Vi added pointedly.

Edér continued, “-- and what’s more, she got me out of a bad place and back on the right path. Eothas’ people in the Dyrwood depend on her now, and I help out however I can.”

“He’s being modest. The Night Market depends on Edér no less than on me. We’re a team,” Vi concluded. “We always have been. We see eye-to-eye -- despite the obvious differences you may see in us,” she chuckled. “We depend on each other, make up what each other lacks. So that’s…” She took his hand, still looking at her parents. “That’s why we’re courting now.”

Izél and Chimalli exchanged a look, but Edér saw no surprise in it. Likely it was as he’d guessed, then: they’d heard the rumors too. And they didn’t look any too happy about having them confirmed.

Chimalli appealed to his daughter first. “Violet, you know that’s not possible. You are already betrothed.”

Vi shook her head. “Anselm and I agreed not to go through with that.”

“You are not the only parties concerned,” Chimalli said. “Such a contract is binding and not lightly put aside.”

“Nor would I lightly put aside  _ our _ bond,” Vi retorted, squeezing Edér’s hand tighter. “And that contract was one I never agreed to.”

“But consider its advantages,” Izél urged her. “We must think of your future, and the Coatls are a well established clan and have long been our allies. Anselm is a fine young man, with a promising career, and you and he would make an exceptional team too. Chimalli tells me he’s been to visit here every day, since you returned.”

“Yes,” Vi said. “Because we’re working with him to investigate this dome of light that surrounded the city yesterday. All of us. That’s...not really what I mean when I say Edér and I are a team. Anselm is my friend, but…”

“We must also caution you against committing to a union with one of the folk,” Chimalli said, looking almost apologetically toward Edér. “If you’ve known only peace between our city and the folk settlements, it’s only because the tlatoani’s council has worked so hard throughout this generation to maintain the truce. If you knew all the times the folk have threatened that truce and tried to deceive us, to risk the peace for their advantage…”

“Edér’s not even from Ixamitl,” Vi huffed. “This isn’t political!”

“Every union is political in some sense,” Chimalli said.

Izél added, “Political or not, you must think of the family, Violet. There could be no offspring from such a union.”

Vi’s eyes went wide. “But you have eleven grandchildren already, Mama, and that’s with less than half of us married off. I think the family line is as secure as it can be already.”

Her hand in Edér’s gripped him tighter again at this turn; perhaps that was why he now ignored his self-imposed standing order to shut up, squeezed back in reassurance, and jumped in with, “Sides, we could adopt.”

All eyes turned to Edér; he hunched down again in his chair and looked back at Vi. She was blinking at him, her lips parted, but she seemed in no hurry to speak. So he continued, almost forgetting for a moment that they weren’t the only two in the room. “If you wanna, that is. I mean, you’d make a great mum, Vi. Wish we could have kids of our own, but there’s gotta be kids out there need a home, and if we can give ‘em one, it’d be my honor to raise ‘em with you and call ‘em ours.” She blinked once more, slowly. He shrugged and concluded, “If you want.”

“I…” she began, but faltered in her response, turned inward as she processed what he’d revealed. Edér had a moment of regret that he hadn’t brought this up before, talked to her about whether she even  _ wanted _ kids before just blurting all that out in front of her parents. Maybe she’d had enough of being the big sister, looking after her siblings when they were little, and had no wish to do all that again with him. Gods, to be fair, maybe looking after  _ him _ was enough trouble for her -- or, knowing what mischief Edér had gotten up to as a kid, maybe Vi wouldn’t trust him to raise their kids right if they had any. But something about that same mischief, all the grief he’d given his parents and all the love and forbearance and lifelong guidance they’d given in return, made him itch to lay the balance straight, to make up for his childhood by walking a mile -- a lifetime -- in his parents’ shoes. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be looking at parenting as a necessary penance, on the other hand. But then, it hadn’t taken long of courting Vi before he noted her wisdom with Eadric, her kindness when children were among visitors to Caed Nua, and recently her firm but gentle hand keeping her littlest siblings in line. He’d be damned if she wouldn’t make a great mum.

“Violet,” Chimalli was saying, “we don’t mean to...forbid you from courting this man. It is your choice. But we would beg you not to do anything rash.”

As if Vi had ever done  _ anything _ rash in her life, Edér thought, but this time he managed to obey his sense of when to shut up once more.

“At least consider the betrothal,” Izél joined in.

Vi frowned. “It’s not as if we’re getting married tomorrow or anything,” she insisted. “We’re not even engaged, really, we’re just courting.” She sighed. “I will...consider your advice. Perhaps you will consider my perspective as well. There certainly isn’t a man more loyal, more selfless, more thoughtful, or one whose heart is more aligned with mine in all ways than my dear Edér.”

“Or who loves you more,” Edér had to add.

Vi smiled and leaned her head against his arm. “That’s what I meant, of course.”

“Well, you forgot ‘more handsome’,” he winked, and she laughed with delight.

“I  _ did _ forget to mention that he always makes me laugh,” she finished. “But you’d probably have figured that out before long if you take any time to get to know him.” She leaned in to grasp her mother’s hand again. “Which I hope you will. I don’t want to go against your wishes, Mama, Papa. But my heart isn’t set on this  _ lightly _ .”

First Chimalli, then Izél, finally nodded. “Neither is our counsel given lightly,” Chimalli reminded her.

“But it was nice to finally meet you, Edér,” Izél said. “We  _ have _ heard so much about you, though not from Violet, till now at least. Come sit with me again sometime.”

“Course,” he said, blinking in surprise.

Vi stood. “We will. But for now, we do have an investigation to get back to.” She bent to kiss her mother’s cheek. “You take good care of Papa, all right?” she grinned, and Izél smiled back, raising a hand to briefly stroke her daughter’s hair.

It’d be easy to like them, Edér thought as he and Vi turned to go. Long as they don’t make trouble for Vi over this. 

But he didn’t like the look of worry that passed between the elder Itzlis when he glanced back on his way out the door.


	25. History and Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenneth and Aloth seek ancient clues at temples; Lottie and Anselm seek ancient clues in the city archives.

Aloth kept a close eye on Lenneth as they made their way to the temple district. She was unusually quiet, her customary chatter drying up as the tallest ziggurats of the gods came into view. Finally he was obliged to ask, as they entered the district and the way diverged to one temple or another, “Where do you want to begin?”

She looked up at him suddenly as if startled out of thought. “Oh. Um...Well, if we’re going to visit them all sooner or later, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Was Glynis, perhaps, a follower of one of them in particular?” he prompted.

Lenneth pursed her lips and considered. “She...well...it was a temple of Eothas where I Awakened. When I heard a prayer she’d written for him.”

“That seems a reasonable starting point, in this city,” he nodded. “Eothas’ temple is fairly prominent.”

“But,” she added, “I’m not sure if that’s...I mean, since  _ that _ happened, I’ve had other prayers and things pop into my mind. Maybe other things she wrote?”

“Or she was very familiar with them,” Aloth shrugged. “Enough to leave an imprint on her memory that carried over to you.”

Lenneth nodded. “I don’t think they were all aimed at Eothas, though. Unless there’s a lot more to him than I ever realized. Like...I don’t actually know that much about the gods, all right?”

He smirked. “You only visit their temples for cons, I recall.”

She sighed. “It was that  _ one time _ . And look how that turned out; I don’t think I’ll be making a habit of running cons in temples. Anyway, if I’m remembering prayers for other gods, we should probably check their temple records too, right?”

“Yes,” Aloth nodded. “At this point, anything you’ve remembered seems a link worth following. Perhaps if you tell me about the prayers, I can identify the gods involved?”

“Okay,” she agreed. She glanced at the temples looming in the distance, but her gaze seemed to focus further than that as she recalled the prayers. “So, let’s see...there was one about a trail worthy of pursuit. And  _ Clever Hound _ , I remember that.”

“An epithet of Galawain,” Aloth recognized it immediately. “The Seeker God.”

“Hm,” she mused. “Seeker God, is he? You think he’d know where to look for Grigor?”

“It’s more that he would encourage  _ you _ to do the seeking,” Aloth cautioned, his voice wry with the memory of seeking out, at the Watcher’s side, secrets the gods had no intention of disclosing. “The gods are not accustomed to giving answers too easily.”

Lenneth sighed again, the puff of air fluttering her bangs. “Of course they aren’t. Hey, I remember another one: it was to someone called The Obscured and it was when I was trying  _ not _ to be found myself…”

“Wael,” Aloth nodded. “Who both reveals and conceals secrets at his whim.”

“Well, let’s hope for secrets  _ revealed _ today, then.”

“Given what we’ve learned so far about Citlatl’s founding, I should think the gods would have a vested interest in helping us protect it.” He paused, then added, “Though if the Haven was always  _ meant _ to protect the city, perhaps our meddling with it will be less than welcome. And the gods generally limit their involvement in kith affairs.”

“What’s the point of them, then?” Lenneth grumbled. “If they don’t do anything, why do we even pay them attention?”

“I said they  _ limit _ their involvement,” Aloth repeated, “not that they do  _ nothing.  _ Believe me, too much of the gods’ intervention can just make things worse. Ask anyone who fought in the Saint’s War, or…” He had in mind to add Ionni Brathr to his argument, but stopped as he recalled that Lenneth hadn’t been there. Nor at Sun in Shadow. So he settled for a summary: “Well, a god on a mission is seldom bothered if kith are caught in the crossfire. But isn’t the point of our visits today to see if your memories have anything to help us deal with the Haven? We won’t be appealing to the gods directly.”

“Unless Glynis wants to, I guess,” Lenneth said. “All right, if we have to start somewhere, let’s find Hylea’s temple.”

Aloth arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Why Hylea? If I may ask. Did you recall prayers to her as well?”

Lenneth shrugged and brushed at a smudge on her armor. “Not Awakened memories. At least, I don’t think so. From my childhood. She’s the only one I know much about, because my dad was a musician so he prayed to her sometimes. She didn’t seem so bad.” She glanced away and added in a much smaller voice, “And I think it gave him hope, for a little while, after Mom died. She...didn’t live long after my baby brother was born, see, and Dad said that dying in childbirth meant Hylea would look after her soul, that she’d be reborn as one of the Sky-Mother’s avian attendants. He hardly ever talked about Mom after we lost her, but he seemed certain of that much.”

_ It gives  _ you  _ hope, too, _ Aloth realized, and he gave her shoulder a hesitant pat. “Then of course we can start there.”

\--------------------

The bookcase was on the opposite end of the archives, but once again Yolotli was perched atop it. Highest shelves holding the oldest records seemed to be one of the few consistent patterns of the archives’ organization, so she was making her way through the loftiest collections in search of Engwithan script. Anselm followed below, ready to take any promising text she handed down to him and stack it safely on the nearest table, with the slowly expanding pile of clay and stone tablets, plus the occasional near-crumbling parchment, that she intended to either decipher herself or pass on to Violet. Or, most likely, to pass on to Violet and then read over her shoulder until Lottie  _ could _ decipher the things herself. Relentless in the pursuit of knowledge, that was Yolotli, as always.

“I’m surprised so many of these survived,” Anselm said as she passed him a tablet on which she had spotted the Engwithan runes for several of the gods, as Violet had shown her.

“The conditions are fairly good for preservation in this archive -- the lighting, the temperature and stable humidity -- even if no one’s really been taking proper care of them in forever. Besides, they’re not  _ all  _ two thousand years old,” Lottie explained, her voice muffled and her braids swinging wild, as she leaned upside down from the top of the bookcase to extract the next tablet from the shelf below her. “Though they must be near that. The missionaries brought the Engwithan language to the Plains, obviously, but our ancestors spoke an archaic form of Katl, and it would make more sense for the missionaries to learn their language and preach to them in words they knew than to make them all learn Engwithan first. So anything written in Engwithan is likely connected to the original missionaries’ internal business, or perhaps their immediate successors, if they transmitted the language as part of new priests’ training.”

“So a generation or two.”

“Most likely,” she said, frowning at the current tablet and returning it to the shelf to try another. Still leaning over the edge, she looked up suddenly from the books, meeting Anselm’s upturned gaze with eyes wide as a thought struck her. “Speaking of generations, I wonder if the missionaries would have passed their language on to their own children too, or would they have raised them as natives, speaking Katl?”

“You think they had children?”

“Well, why wouldn’t they?”

Anselm shrugged. “It’s just that I’ve never heard of anyone in Citlatl claiming a missionary among their ancestors. If this city two thousand years ago was anything like it is now, that would have surely been a thing worth bragging about. Especially since Lenneth’s visions seem to imply that the missionaries literally  _ founded _ Citlatl. You know the Zanínen clan, with their genealogies linking their line back to one of the city’s first mayors? Or the Huemara, whose great-great-great-whatever-grandmother led the warriors driving off the Quechmatl. Being descended from a missionary and city founder would go over like being the gods’ own chosen ones, in this city. No one would let their children  _ or _ their neighbors forget a thing like that.”

Lottie scrambled back from the shelf, sitting cross-legged on top of the bookcase and looking at him more directly now as she considered his words. “Hm. For that matter, why don’t we even have legends of the missionaries? You’re right; they  _ should _ be larger than life in common memory, especially if they had descendants who stayed here. But they’re not even mentioned in most of the city histories. They all speak of the city’s origins as lost to time; as if Citlatl were as old as the Plains themselves. Which, granted, at two thousand years, it’s pretty close! But there’s no mention of where the founders came from, or why they built a city here, or what they worshiped or believed in before adopting the gods the rest of the world knows. The gods the Engwithans introduced…”

“And then erased all record of their doing so,” Anselm guessed. “But why?”

Lottie propped her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands and looked down at him with a bright grin. “Now this is  _ my _ kind of mystery, Investigator Anselm!”

He chuckled and crossed his arms in mock seriousness. “Do recall that the present-day mystery is somewhat more urgent. We can unravel the city’s secret history later.”

“Can we?” Her ears fluttered as she looked at him, hopeful and wide-eyed. “I mean...I would like that. If I could go through the records here more carefully, and see just how much  _ hasn’t  _ been lost to time, after all...It’s a very promising collection; and I’m good at research, and  _ you’re _ quite good at putting clues together into a coherent picture, and…” She flushed faintly, not quite looking at him. “And...you probably didn’t mean  _ we _ can, literally. I know you have other cases to deal with when the Haven’s sorted. You don’t have to indulge me.”

“Oh,” he said, taken aback. His hands dropped to his pockets as he glanced around at this very promising collection. “It’s...intriguing, though, when you put it like that. I’d like to see what you’d make of this place. I’d like to help. But all in good time. When the Haven isn’t  _ literally _ looming over our heads any more, we can take our time in here. In between the official cases.”

She smiled and nodded. “Then the sooner we deal with the Haven, the better.”

\----------

The thing about Hylea’s temple -- the Tower Nest, they called it in Citlatl -- was that a visitor unfamiliar with the gods would probably mistake it for something completely different. For one thing, unlike the majority of the temples here, it was not a bulky ziggurat but, true to its name, a tall, elegant tower, perched on a slight hill -- or what passed for a hill in this city of the savannahs -- overlooking the rest of the temple district and the lush gardens carpeting the hill. Twining spires stretched out from the tower’s highest levels like the branches of trees. From these hung chiming bells and the feathers of myriad species of birds, strung on decorative garlands to the glory of their Queen. Everywhere Lenneth looked, the birds themselves perched on every possible roost.

“Not just the feathers of the local species,” the tiny, wizened orlan priestess who had shown Lenneth and Aloth through the tower to its rooftop aviaries informed them proudly, with a fluttering of the tufts of blue fur along her ears and arms as she gestured to the garlands. “Pilgrims from other lands, when they visit, make offerings to the goddess of the feathers of birds native to their own homes. These sway side by side with those of our own feathered friends. It is a show of unity, that the Sky-Mother takes us all under her wings.”

Lenneth smiled. “That’s lovely. As is the tower itself. Truly Hylea must be pleased with this place.” For a moment she looked around for the pelicans that had been ubiquitous when, as a child, she had accompanied her father to Hylea’s temple not far from the harbor in Rauatai. But as the only seas surrounding Citlatl were those of grass and grains, seabirds would have a long way to fly to attend the Sky-Mother here.

“To the goddess,” the priestess shrugged, “all the sky is her home. She delights in a child’s heartfelt song no less than the most practiced choirs. The temple is more for her worshipers to gather -- and, of course, the birds,” she chuckled, as a hummingbird buzzed in close to her feathered headdress, “but who knows when our Lady may be watching through their eyes?”

Aloth was keeping a wary eye on the skies. “There are certainly quite a lot of them,” he noted as a vivid blue and gold macaw swooped cackling overhead, pursued by another, feathered in brilliant green.

“Birds always gather to Hylea’s domain,” the priestess said, but Lenneth caught a hint of sadness in her response.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked, her voice low and gentle in case soothing would be required to coax the priestess to speak further. Not that it had taken much coaxing as yet with this one; she was visibly delighted to talk to the visitors.

As expected, the priestess leapt at the chance to elaborate, spreading her palms wide in emphasis. “The birds of the sky are numberless, no? One would think. But their numbers have dwindled in recent days.”

“How can you tell?” Aloth asked, eyes narrowed.

The priestess cast a dubious look over him before responding. “Do we not know our friends here? Certainly, some birds come and go freely; the skies are open to all. But many of them live in the aviaries all the time. We tend them and know them by name as well as the souls of our own children.”

“So…” Lenneth probed, “some of these temple birds have, what, disappeared?”

The priestess’ face fell. “Would that it were so. We might believe they had flown to attend Hylea elsewhere. No, we’ve found several birds dead in the last few days. Ordinarily that would be no cause for concern. Everything dies; even in Hylea’s temple, Berath cannot be denied. But it’s more of them than usual, all at once.”

The elves exchanged a glance; Lenneth recalled what Xipil had reported of the doves dying in Eothas’ rookeries. Here, too? “That’s terrible,” she said to the priestess, going with the soothing route after all. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Do you have any idea what’s causing it?”

“None at all,” the priestess sighed. “No sign of sickness; no marks of attack. But all the same,” she straightened and smiled, “their time here was blessed and a blessing to us, no?”

“Of course,” Lenneth smiled diplomatically. “And there are still so many birds, ah, blessing this place, aren’t there?” She glanced up; beyond the flocks soaring overhead and the featherspires in which many a bird roosted, the Haven’s light shone with a pinkish hue now. “Which I’m sure is very comforting, with the omens in the sky. Do you suppose that’s anything to do with the Sky-Mother, that light over the city?”

“Some have theorized so,” the priestess nodded. “We would like to think it is an omen of Hylea’s care and not of her judgment, nothing to worry about. After all, it’s been there for a day and seems harmless enough.”

“There are competing theories, I presume?” Aloth asked.

The priestess shrugged. “At the Tower Nest, we do of course like to claim it for our goddess. But I have heard it said in the city that it is the eye of Eothas. An ever-sun, even through the night.”

“Also a fairly benign interpretation,” Aloth muttered.

“Whatever it is,” Lenneth concluded, narrowing her eyes at him as a hint to be less ominous, “it’s certainly pretty, no?”

The priestess smiled so wide her eyes crinkled. “Oh, yes. Very inspiring to the artists.” She nodded to a corner of the rooftop where one young orlan stood painting the featherspires with the Haven framing them. Then she pressed her palms together and looked the two elves over. “Now, then,” she said, with a twisting flourish of the tips of her ears that Lenneth was hard-pressed to read, “what else did you wish to know of our temple, now that you’ve seen it?”

“It looks to be newer than the other temples in town,” Aloth suggested. “Or simply well-preserved, perhaps? Is the tower very old?”

“Oh, there has always been a temple to the Sky-Mother on this hill,” the priestess assured them. “Though it’s true, some elements of the current tower are more modern renovations. The featherspires, for instance: those were added under the purview of Mother Superior Chabihua, when Xihuitl was mayor of Citlatl.” At the elves’ confused looks, she explained, “That would be about five centuries ago, now.”

“I see,” Lenneth nodded. “So the spires are new...ish, but the temple itself is older?”

“It’s been rebuilt a time or two in history,” the priestess admitted. “But you haven’t seen the underground yet, have you? We don’t make much use of it; too far from the sky. But the foundations go back to the city’s own founding.” She chuckled at her own play on words. “So a tower of some fashion has stood here since time immemorial.”

Lenneth smiled wide. “Then we would love to see the underground.”

The priestess happily led them there, back down through the tower’s many levels: where worshipers gathered to hear poets recite and musicians reflect their goddess’ song; where artists sketched and painted the ubiquitous birds, or the view from the tower’s tall windows out over the city. Lenneth glanced over one artist’s shoulder to see that, like his colleague on the rooftop, he was painting a lively rendition of the Haven itself, swirling with paints more vivid than the dome’s current light.

They passed through galleries of art, displayed on the walls and as centerpieces throughout the chamber. They passed chambers where poets read out to one another the verses they were toiling over. Nowhere to be seen were statues of Hylea herself. When Lenneth had asked the priestess about this on their way up the tower, she had replied that the goddess was never known to take kith form, but to visit the world on the wings of her faithful flocks -- and in the cries of women in childbirth.

And childbirth was, as it turned out, precisely the purpose of the temple’s underground. “It’s a bit unusual,” the priestess informed them, “for an official temple of Hylea to also perform this function of the goddess’ domain. Midwives, you know, are  _ informally _ considered her clergy as well, though their work is done out in their communities, wherever women give birth. To the birds and to the arts the Sky-Mother’s temples are devoted. Citlatl’s Tower Nest is unique in this regard, that we have this refuge for women to come and bring life into the world in peace and comfort.”

But whatever she said next was lost on Lenneth, who suddenly gripped Aloth’s hand and froze as a vision overtook her.

\------

Thanks to her sudden vise-like grip of his hand, Aloth had a moment’s warning. This allowed him to, none  _ too _ clumsily, catch Lenneth when she gasped and her knees suddenly gave way there in the birthing chamber. “Lenneth?” he began to call to her, “Lenn--” but broke off as he realized that what was happening was  _ probably _ just the thing they were trying to achieve. So he caught her and carefully hefted her over to the nearest couch. Well, birthing couch, technically, he supposed. But it would have to do.

“What’s happening?” the little priestess worried at him. “Is she all right? Did she trip? Is she --”

“Fine,” Aloth insisted, to himself as well as to the priestess. “She’s fine. Just a spell -- this sort of thing takes her sometimes -- climbing all those stairs, perhaps,” he fumbled.

“Oh, heavens,” the priestess breathed out in what sounded suspiciously more like delight at the drama than concern for a woman’s well-being. “Here, lay her down. She’s breathing, isn’t she? Make sure she’s breathing.”

She was staring straight ahead, still squeezing his hand for dear life; but yes, she was breathing. Very deeply breathing, in fact. “She’s fine,” Aloth repeated.

“Does she need a physician? Oh, it’s a shame we don’t have midwives on staff here these days. Of course I suppose it’s not a midwife she needs, but a proper physician -- unless,” she cast a hopeful glance at the catatonic Lenneth. “ _ Is _ she with child?”

Aloth felt his face warm and avoided more than a glance out the corner of his eye at Lenneth’s petite form. “Not...not that I’m aware of, no,” he managed.

“Oh, what a shame,” the priestess sighed. “For a moment I thought -- well, I hoped the light in the sky might have heralded such an event! The first birth at the Sky-Mother’s temple in  _ generations! _ Ah, well.” She patted Aloth’s arm, then Lenneth’s. Then she frowned at Lenneth’s continued stillness. “Perhaps I should go for that physician after all.”

“I really don’t think that will be necessary,” Aloth insisted, studying the flickering of Lenneth’s eyelids. “But could I trouble you for -- for some refreshment? For when she recovers, that is. She…” His memory flashed to that morning, at the Haven’s edge, when he’d observed Xipil sitting with her through just such a vision as Aloth  _ hoped _ she was having now. “She does find a bit of chocolate to be very restorative, at these moments.”

The priestess smiled kindly. “I have just the thing. Wait right here.” And with a flutter of her feathered headdress, she darted back up the stairs.

“As if we were going anywhere else,” Aloth muttered under his breath when she was well out of hearing.

A minute passed, then another. Then Lenneth’s eyelids fluttered again, and with a gasp, she sat up, still clutching Aloth’s hand.

“My baby!” she croaked with the voice of a woman whose cries had for hours flown to Hylea under her midwife’s care. Panting for breath, she blinked slowly, looking around in bewilderment at the underground chamber. Her eyes met Aloth’s. She blinked once more, and then quietly asked, her voice fading back to its normal register, “Did...did I just have a baby?”

“ _ You _ most certainly did not,” he answered with a wry half-smile, untangling his fingers from hers as her grasp finally relaxed. “But I think, perhaps…”

Her eyes went wide as she finished the thought. “Glynis did.”

“Here in this temple, I presume.”

She nodded with a distant look. “Yes. I think so. That triggered the memory?”

“It must have. I’m -- sorry; that looked...most intense.” He winced at the understatement.

Lenneth brought her hands together, rubbing out the tension of the muscles that had clung to him so long. “I only got glimpses, honestly. Thank you, Glynis dear, for sparing me the whole ordeal,” she added with her usual wild grin, and Aloth’s own muscles relaxed at this return to normalcy, or whatever passed for it with Lenneth. “Been a while since I assisted a birth, and I sure wasn’t expecting to go through it  _ myself _ anytime soon.”

“Assisted?” Aloth’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you…”

“Worked for a midwife for a few weeks,” she shrugged. “Early after my parents died. Same one who delivered my baby brother, in fact. She...took pity on my sister and me when we were left to raise him on our own. Paid me a few teos for every delivery I’d help with.” A wistful smile crossed her face. “She used to tell us that since Mom’s soul became one of Hylea’s attendants after she died giving him birth, Tully was sacred to the Queen of Birds. That she’d watch over him all his life, because his mother had her ear.” Her smile fell. “I guess birds don’t live that long, though. Neither did he.”

Aloth fidgeted on the couch beside her for a lack of a suitable response. “Lenneth…” he began.

“Hey,” she brightened. “We learned something here, didn’t we?”

“That Glynis had a child?”

She nodded. “She was nervous about it. Who wouldn’t be, right? But it was more than the uncertainty of labor. She wasn’t  _ supposed _ to be having a child. It was...I don’t know, I only got glimpses...it was something to do with the missionaries. But she was determined her baby would live and live well.”

“Well,” Aloth murmured, taking this in, clasping and unclasping his hands in his lap. “Then I hope it did.”

Lenneth stretched and gingerly slipped down from the couch. “On to the next stop, I guess.”

“Unless you want to ask about written records, prayers, anything like that we could go over.”

She shook her head. “No, I think I’ve seen enough of the Tower Nest. Pretty as it is.”

“It is certainly much nicer than the last time I visited one of Hylea’s temples,” Aloth muttered as they made their way up the stairs. 

Lenneth honed in immediately, of course, on his rare moment of volunteering information about himself without her prying for it. “Oh?” she prompted, ears perked in focused interest. “How so?”

“Well, for one, we were there to fight a dragon that had driven her clergy away,” he said, already regretting his comment. 

“A dragon?” Lenneth elbowed him, grinning ear to ear at the prospect of such a tale. “Come on, Aloth, you can’t just mention a thing like that and not tell me everything.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her. “I most certainly can. Besides, there’s little to tell. It was harrowing, but we defeated it.”

“You call that a story?” she laughed when he fell silent again. “Who was with you? Was it when you were traveling with Violet and Edér? Why was there a dragon in the temple? How did you defeat it? What did it  _ look _ like?” 

He sighed. “One at a time, please! It...it was...very large.”

“Never known a dragon that wasn’t!” she grinned. “Actually, never known any dragons at all. So you’d better make this story good, Aloth Corfiser.”

He tried. He really did. They made their way from Hylea’s temple on through the temple district, stopping only briefly on their way out for the tiny priestess, her headdress’s plumage much the same in color as the dragon’s (a useful point of reference, Aloth noted, and made sure to point it out to Lenneth once they’d departed), to delight Lenneth with the bag of chocolates Aloth had requested.


	26. Mind Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigating the Haven takes time - especially for Anselm and Lottie, researching at the city archives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long delay between updates! I've finally gotten this next batch of chapters into postable shape and in an order that makes sense, I think, and it's about time we got this investigation moving forward again. 
> 
> Plus, I've been doing some art of my characters while trying to untangle these plot threads - you can find it at https://rannadylin.tumblr.com/tagged/soul-and-shield !

As if the Haven’s dampening of magic had slowed time itself, the investigation’s progress slowed after its appearance. Citlatl was too large for one day to allow Xipil to fully map the borders of its Haven and the adra spires along the way. Even for Yolotli, it took more than a day to mine the depths of the archives. Violet, when not with her mother, had many more parlors to visit in search of the Leaden Key’s patron -- and many more Engwithan tablets to decipher every day as Yolotli’s search progressed. As for Lenneth, one day would not suffice to familiarize -- or refamiliarize -- herself with the whole temple district; few of her visits produced as vivid memories as the one she had relived in Hylea’s temple, so she had to trudge through books of prayers and hymns at each temple, sometimes spending days begrudgingly reading words that occasionally seemed more familiar than they should yet answered none of her real questions, while Aloth hovered nearby in case Glynis knocked her out again. 

And Anselm had other cases besides the Haven to follow up. They couldn’t be put off indefinitely, especially when the leads he’d like to be pursuing instead, to find Grigor and the Leaden Key, kept coming to dead ends. His delegation of the less urgent incidents in his case files to different teams of watchmen under his authority had produced some results; about a third of those cases had been concluded without needing his further attention in the days since he returned to work. But he was still hoping for a new lead on the Leaden Key somewhere in all the mischief taking place in the city, so he resigned himself to look into more of the open cases personally. Aloth, more familiar than any of them with the Leaden Key’s fingerprints, so to speak, came in to the Watch headquarters a few times to go over the case files with him and point out oddities that could be connected to their intrigues. For the most suspicious of these anomalies, the elf accompanied Anselm to investigate the sparse clues in person, but the Leaden Key remained elusive.

A few times, Lottie also tagged along when Anselm investigated a crime scene: curious to see him at work, or hoping to lend a hand, or ready for a break from the dusty archives; he wasn’t sure. More often, she kept sorting through the records, adding to the stacks of books and tablets now crowding out the case files in his office. And day after day, she sat across his desk from him, poring over ancient texts for any mention of the Haven, the missionaries, or anything else pertinent to the crisis.

And even when she was intent upon such reading, her silences never lasted long. Periodically she would read aloud some passage of note, some discovery too good  _ not _ to share -- even though these were seldom anything relevant to the Haven, as far as Anselm could tell, but simply new knowledge which Yolotli was excited to obtain. 

“Hm,” she murmured now, muffled slightly by the braid-end she was idly chewing as she concentrated. “Apparently we have catacombs.”

Anselm was only half listening; the last few times she’d spoken while reading, it had been to note random curiosities of the city annals, like the xaurip wars in the 1200s, or the squash famine of 984. Assuming this was no more relevant to their search than previous such announcements, he at first made some slight noise of acknowledgment, continuing to scan a case file regarding a tailor’s shop gutted by a fire that looked to be arson. Then her words caught up with his lagging attention.

“Catacombs,” he echoed, glancing up. “First I’ve heard of them.”

Lottie flashed him a triumphant smile. “See, it’s not all year-by-year trade quotas and genealogical notes of the leading families. There are significant discoveries to be made in these archives.” Her look turned thoughtful. “Not that trade quotas and genealogies couldn’t contribute to significant discoveries, too, of course.”

“So where are these catacombs?”

She scanned further down her page with a frown. “That, I regret to inform, is a detail lacking in the annals of 1311. I suppose the scribe writing this record assumed everyone in 1311 already knew where to find them.”

“Well, at least now we know that as of the year 1311, we had catacombs. Why are they mentioned there, anyway?”

“Xaurips again,” she said. “They were found to be living in the catacombs. Then they started venturing out into the city itself and causing trouble, raiding people’s granaries and rustling off their livestock. And when the city had driven them off, it seems they sealed up the entrances to prevent further infestations.”

“Without specifying the location of these sealed entrances, I presume.”

She shook her head, braids dancing. “Think we could find them, though?”

He turned his head to the antique map of Citlatl that she’d found in the archives and pinned to his wall. “You do remember that we’re solving the present-day mystery first.”

“Then I’ll add it to the list for future research,” she grinned.

Half an hour (and several more random discoveries) later, she gasped and looked up to him, eyes wide with delight. “Anselm! Catacombs again!”

“Ah, a trend emerges,” he said as his lips curved toward a smile. “What is it this time? More xaurips? Did they open the sealed entrances up again and find it overrun?”

“No, this was before all that. I’m on the 963 AI annals now.”

“You’re going backwards?”

“Sometimes. Nothing in the archives is organized,” she reminded him. “And the texts I’ve pulled for a closer look are mostly in archaic Katl -- and Engwithan too, of course, but we’ll deal with those later. It takes some reading just to piece together the years each book covers; they weren’t really labeling things properly in the earliest volumes.” She gestured to the wall opposite the one with the map, where her selection of books now occupied a dozen stacks of varying heights. “I’m sorting them as I go. But since a mention of the Haven might show up anywhere, it doesn’t seem necessary to sort them all first and then read from a particular volume. I have to just read it all, sooner or later. Or until I find something that leads us to the Haven, at least.”

Anselm nodded. “All right. So, what happened in the catacombs in 963?”

“It was vithrack that time,” she said. “A colony of them tried to move into the catacombs.”

“Vithrack,” he repeated. “Aren’t those the spider-faced things that used to live below Violet’s keep?”

“Oh, that’s right!” Lottie brightened. “The ones that are like you!”

He arched an eyebrow. “Beg your pardon?”

“I mean, they’re like ciphers,” she clarified as her cheeks colored. “Mind-to-mind communication. At least, that’s a thing you can do, right?”

Slowly, he nodded, noting the twitch of her ears. “It’s possible. Yes.”

She looked back at him in a thinking silence, fiddling with another of her braids. At last she asked, “Can you read my mind?”

“I’m no speed reader,” he protested, grinning at the thought of how quickly any cipher would lose his way in the rapidly branching rabbit trails that he imagined the thoughts of Yolotli to be. “I doubt I could keep up if I tried.”

She glanced to the table. “Oh.”

“Besides,” he added, still amused at the whole notion, “I hardly need trouble myself to read a mind you speak so freely.”

She looked stricken. “Oh. I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit, reading out loud like I do when something interesting turns up. I can stop. I don’t mean to interrupt your concentration or --”

“No, no,” he laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that, Lottie. I don’t mind at all. It’s certainly very random sometimes, but I like hearing what catches your attention.”

“You’re sure it’s not a bother? If I’m distracting you from work you need to do...” She nodded to the case files and shifted her book back slightly toward the edge of the desk as if suddenly too aware of how thoroughly her research had taken over his office.

“Of course not. The paperwork is tedious at the best of times. You are a welcome distraction. And...pleasant company.”

She smiled, looking relieved, and went back to her reading, with the smile intact. Within five minutes, however, she looked up again to ask, “But you  _ could _ read my mind? Theoretically?”

He paused in the notes he was jotting down on his case file and raised his eyes to her. “Lottie, are you  _ wanting _ your mind read? It’s not something I go around doing indiscriminately, you know. Not unless there’s a reason. Do you, for some reason, want me to try?”

She looked down again to answer, in a mumble, “Oh. No, I was just curious.”

He studied her for a moment, twisting the pen between his fingers. Finally, with a crooked smile, he suggested, “Perhaps I should, if only to find out what exactly it is you wish to ask me.” She looked up, wide-eyed, and he amended, “But perhaps you’d rather learn techniques to ward your mind against such an intrusion?”

Her eyebrows rose. “That’s a thing?” She started to speak further, then closed her mouth and just looked at him, doubts showing in the crease of her forehead and the twitch of her ears. Then all at once she met his eyes and shook her head slightly, her voice soft as she said, “You don’t have to. I trust you.”

He was stunned, unsure what he could have done to deserve her trust. She’d known him since she was born; she knew as well as they all did what he’d put Violet through. For all her sudden curiosity regarding his skills, she had to know no one ever really trusted a cipher, not even those who made use of them. But it was just not in Lottie’s nature to see less than the best in anyone.

Which made her, with all her curiosity and cheer, vulnerable to the reality in everyone. “I’d like to teach you some wards anyway,” he insisted, leaning forward. “It would be useful, should our investigations bring us into conflict with...others of my kind. Or,” he suggested with a slow grin, “in case the vithrack have returned to those catacombs by the time we find them.”

She laughed, tugging at a braid. “Well, of course, one should be prepared in case of vithrack.”

“Good,” he said, inexplicably relieved. “We could start now, if you like.” He offered his hands to her across the table, and without hesitation she placed her palms in his, nodding as she returned his questioning look with the eager gaze of the diligent pupil she always had been. So he nodded back and began to explain how she might hone the hurricane of her thoughts into catacombs no cipher could easily map.


	27. A Pact of Two Households

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet finally learns *why* her parents betrothed her to Anselm - and, with him, considers her options.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* Another chapter already! Well, yes, these first two were pretty much ready to go once I figured out where to put everything, so here is another chapter to make up for the month hiatus. :-D Cue: Family drama ahead...
> 
> Character art can be found at https://rannadylin.tumblr.com/tagged/soul-and-shield !

Most days, the sickroom was the quietest place in the house. Violet found herself spending more and more time there, as the Haven’s faint but persistent light continued to enshroud the city without any apparent change. Even when her mother was sleeping, Violet would often sit beside the bed, working through the translations of the Engwithan tablets Yolotli kept finding. Sometimes she read these translations to her mother, if there was anything of interest. In fact she doubted that any of it could be of much interest to Izél, but her mother seemed comforted by her company, at least, and Violet was comforted to make up for lost time. Most of the records she had thus far translated were routine, bland, often fragmented, with parts of the narrative -- when she was lucky enough to get one that was a narrative and not just a roster or inventory -- missing, perhaps one day to be found on other tablets, deeper in the archives. But gradually some picture began to emerge of the missionaries’ early days in the Ixamitl Plains and, eventually, Citlatl itself. She read scraps of sermons preached to wild orlan tribes sometimes skeptical of the new gods, sometimes welcoming. There were lists of names of converts who had undergone rites initiating them into one god’s cult or another’s. Rules for new believers entering training as priests of Woedica were inscribed in large, blocky runes on one tablet. Another recorded the conversion of their chieftain, the tlatoani, and his desire to found a new city, a refuge where all who chose to follow the new gods might thrive. Others discussed plans for the temples to be built in that city, and reports of their progress. There were even letters bearing news from the missionaries’ superiors back home. From the grandmaster himself. Violet’s soul felt turned upside-down the first time she saw Thaos’ name inscribed, endorsing a tablet sent with instructions apparently penned by a priest under his authority, back in what remained of Engwith.

She had yet to see _Glynis_ similarly inscribed. Nor _Ianthina_.

In the afternoon hush, Izél now dozed, and Violet was close to nodding off herself as she worked through a tablet listing the names of clans who had settled in Citlatl at its founding, rallying to the missionaries’ calls and the tlatoani’s grand design. This was the slowest work. She had the memory of the Engwithan runes and the words behind them, but _names_ were trickier, a matter of piecing together the sounds into combinations whose accuracy could not easiily be verified. If Yolotli ever emerged long enough from her archives, Violet really would teach her this language, if only to let her deal with the tedium of these translations. Except, of course, Lottie would never see it as tedium. All the more reason to let her academically-minded sister do the honors.

A sigh escaped her lips as she slumped sideways in her chair, pausing between names on the list. Her father looked up from his own reading across the bed from her with a slight smile. “It hasn’t stumped you, has it?” he asked.

“No, it’s just slow going,” she said, sitting up a little straighter. “Names, all names. Most of them completely strange to me.”

His ears flicked in interest. “Only most of them?”

“I do recognize a few,” she nodded. “The Teilotl clan, for one, and the Xochipilli, and Zanínen. All of them had ancestors among Citlatl’s first settlers, if I’m reading this right.”

Chimalli nodded with a thoughtful hum. “They would be thrilled to know their lineage is so well established,” he said.

“Sadly, I don’t see any _Itzlis_ mentioned,” Violet grinned. “I thought we had one of the oldest lines too.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” he said.

Violet glanced over the tablet again, now actively searching for familiar names. “I don’t see any Coatls either.”

Izél’s sudden, quiet chuckle startled both of them, certain as they were she’d been asleep. “You won’t,” she said, turning her head slightly toward Violet. “They certainly haven’t been here that long.”

“Oh,” Violet said. “I thought they went back as far as we did.”

“Only a few centuries,” Izél corrected. “They may act as if their roots are as old as the city itself, but they migrated here long after it was founded.”

Violet gave her mother an appraising look. “And you’re quite sure _we_ didn’t?”

Izél, weak and pale, still managed to return the appraising look with an arch one. “ _I_ was born a Zanínen. You just found my clan in your list.” She turned her head just enough to smile up at Chimalli. “But I’m sure the Itzlis were not far behind.”

Violet hesitated to bring it up, but the Coatl clan had been much on her mind since introducing her parents to Edér. “So...our family history is not as tightly bound with the Coatls’ as I’ve always heard? Only a few centuries?”

Chimalli shifted in his chair. “That is still many generations of history between us.”

Violet fiddled with her pen, then asked the question that had chafed at her all her life. “Many generations of arranged marriages, you mean. Why? What’s so important about this particular clan alliance? Why _do_ we keep marrying them, for so many generations? And, I have to ask, why is it so important to you that I marry Anselm, when our generation already has Garivald and Corbus married to his sisters? Isn’t that enough?”

Her parents exchanged a glance. “Tradition is a powerful force,” her father said. “But this particular arrangement has had...complications. Since before the betrothal was made, truly.”

Violet sighed. “What complications? Surely I ought to know the truth of the situation, if I’m the one asked to commit to a marriage neither Anselm nor I _want_ anymore.”

Chimalli looked to his wife. Izél sighed, closed her eyes, and slowly nodded. He looked up to Violet again, setting aside his book and adjusting his reading glasses. “Fair enough. It is not just tradition, Violet. When the Coatl clan first settled in Citlatl, rising quickly to prominence, they were the cause of great strife in the city. Our clan, in particular, resented their competition. Now, a friendly rivalry -- that could be an impetus for improvement on both sides. But this conflict soon grew bitter. There were quarrels, brawls in the streets -- on both sides, there were deaths undeserved. Someone was murdered, in cold blood, and their clan sought vengeance, only to have vengeance vowed against them in turn, and so on. Who started it is lost to history -- there are several conflicting accounts, probably circulated by each clan in its own defense -- and it hardly matters now. It was a destructive spiral, and the tlatoani had to intervene, before the violence spilled over to the whole city. It could not be determined which clan’s guilt was greater, though each of us pushed for the other to be expelled from the city. But he was a marvel of diplomacy, the tlatoani of those days, and somehow convinced both clans’ leaders to lay aside their enmity and talk of peace.”

“And they found a way past the feud,” Izél smiled wistfully. “As the story goes, despite all the fighting, two young people, one a Coatl and one an Itzli, had fallen in love. They’d met in secret, knowing their families would never condone it. But when the tlatoani had their elders hostage in the peace talks, each side refusing to give any ground without the other clan’s pledge of good faith...well, the lovers volunteered to be that pledge. To ensure, by their own union, that their families would honor each other.”

Violet’s eyes narrowed. “How ironic, that this all began with a couple wanting to marry for love, despite their families’ plans.”

“And also for peace,” Chimalli said. “At any rate, it worked. But not because of that marriage alone. The tlatoani discerned that one such union would perhaps keep the clans in a dubious alliance for a generation or two, but that the rivalry could easily descend into future violence again. He required the clans to enter a pact of alliance, a formal arrangement to further one another’s best interests, and that every few generations, that pact would be renewed by marriage between the clans. So now, centuries later, you’d be hard pressed to find a Coatl without some Itzli blood or an Itzli without a Coatl ancestor. It has kept the peace, all that time, and both our families have thrived because of it.”

“Every few generations,” Violet echoed. “Garivald married Narusa and Corbus married Evine. Didn’t that take care of our generation? Why me, too?”

“That,” Izél sighed, “is where I come in.”

“Technically, I think,” Chimalli murmured, “that is where Tezca Coatl comes in.”

“Anselm’s father?” Violet asked.

“He was my suitor,” Izél said. Her voice was faint as it had been all these recent days, but Violet thought there was a hint of sorrow in it. “One of many, to be honest. I always _did_ like meeting people, and I especially liked the attention of so many young men. I was quite the catch in those days, if I may say so. I took my time deciding, enjoying all their flowery words and presents while I could.”

“Goodness, Mother,” Violet said, wide-eyed.

“But Tezca was exceptionally charming,” she recalled. “So...persuasive, and so determined, whenever he had his heart set on something, that at one point I did in fact accept his proposal. We were engaged.” She chuckled at Violet’s expression. “Unthinkable now, isn’t it? But I was impetuous. He was handsome, and rich, and I thought the match advantageous.”

“What...happened?” Violet choked out, glancing up to her father, who was most definitely _not_ Tezca Coatl, and who was watching the conversation with a faint, possibly smug, smile now.

“I convinced her it was a mistake,” he said simply.

Izél chuckled, and her fingers fluttered toward his hand on the blanket. “There’s a bit more to it than that, dear, but yes. It would have been a mistake. I broke off the engagement and married Chimalli instead. I’ve never regretted it, though Tezca was furious.”

Violet arched an eyebrow. “Like father, like son, I suppose.”

“Anselm did put up quite the fight when you first told him you were through,” Izél recalled with a look to her daughter that was far more piercing than her drowsy state should allow. “And yet  you’re certain he is now agreeable to ending the betrothal?”

“Quite,” Violet nodded. “Ask him, if you want. Or ask Garivald how Anselm told him off at Caed Nua when he was trying to talk me out of courting Edér.” A faint smirk -- and a fainter blush -- accompanied the memory.

“Well,” Izél said, “at any rate, Anselm’s...initial reaction was indeed much the picture of his father’s, back then. I suppose that wasn’t entirely unwarranted; I had made promises, after all, and then did not keep them. I understand now that he felt cheated out of the match he thought was secure.”

“Which was why he pressed for the betrothals,” Chimalli elaborated. “Tezca did not hesitate to find another bride -- Joveta -- when he was finally convinced that Izél would not have him. But he held the grudge long after that. The peace between our clans was...fragile, for a time. We wished to remain friends with the Coatls and tried not to antagonize them further. So we were quick to oblige when Tezca asked for the betrothal pact to be honored in our children’s generation, as it had not been since the days of our grandparents.”

Violet nodded. “But wouldn’t a betrothal between Garivald and Narusa have been sufficient?”

“Ah, the complications,” Izél said. “First...you know that we made your betrothal before your birth. It was actually made even before your brothers’ births. Tezca was the first to suggest it. The clans _had_ been on uneasy terms since Chimalli wooed me away from the Coatls. Tezca’s wife was pregnant with their first child when he approached us to propose a betrothal.”

Chimalli took up the tale again. “He insinuated quite strongly that he...had not given up on Izél, or at least on her line. Whatever he had seen in her as a potential bride, he hoped to acquire the same in her daughter, I think.”

“He insisted specifically on our daughter,” Izél added. “Of course, there was no guarantee we would have one, or that Tezca’s child would be a son. But it _was_ the right time for our clans to again honor the tlatoani’s pact between us. And the Coatls had the capacity to make life very difficult for our clan. Tezca had already begun to put pressure on us in...various ways,” she hedged.

“So we agreed to his terms,” Chimalli said. “For the peace. And also because, whatever the tensions that had followed Izél’s courtships, the Coatls _are_ our friends, and have been for generations. We are stronger and better together.”

“And it seemed a decent way to soothe the hurt I had done to Tezca,” Izél murmured. “Indeed, he was satisfied with our agreement at first.”

“I think I can guess where this is heading,” said Violet. “Anselm is their _youngest_ child.”

“So he is,” Chimalli said. “When their daughter Gisela was born, and then their Nora, and still we had neither daughter _nor_ son, tensions began to grow again.”

“And then we had Garivald,” Izél said. “And Corbus soon followed -- but not before the Coatls added two more daughters to their family.”

“Tezca was growing frustrated with our inability -- on both sides,” Chimalli chuckled, “to fulfill the betrothal contract as he had wished.”

“But his girls and our boys all played so well together,” Izél smiled. “So we approached him, this time, and suggested a show of good faith. The original contract would stand, but we would betroth our sons to two of his daughters, to further strengthen the alliance of our clans in the meantime.”

“Narusa and Evine,” Violet nodded. “Not the two eldest daughters?”

“Tezca had expected a son sooner,” Chimalli shrugged, “and had already betrothed Nora and Gisela elsewhere.”

“Well, Gar and Corbus seem happy with their marriages now,” Violet allowed. “But that wasn’t enough?”

“Our sons’ betrothal contracts were an addendum to the original agreement,” Chimalli said. “Just as binding. But having fulfilled it would not negate the first contract with its terms: A Coatl son, an Itzli daughter. Tezca was mollified by the additional matches, but he was still determined to hold us to those initial terms, should we ever have a daughter and he a son.”

“Then Anselm was born,” Izél said, “and the contract’s final addendum was entered upon. Tezca was jubilant to have a boy. We were a bit relieved, ourselves. We agreed on a betrothal between Anselm and our daughter, as soon as we should have one. And after that, the alliance of our clans went much smoother.”

“You _all_ played so well together,” Chimalli smiled. “The matter seemed settled.”

Violet’s gaze fell to her hands in her lap, clenched around one of the tablets. “And then I...upended it.”

“The alliance _has_ been rather more...tense, since then,” Chimalli admitted.

“Though we certainly understand why you did it,” Izél sighed. “At the time, we were too focused on the threat to the peace, I suppose. But the way Anselm reacted when you rejected him...well, he _does_ take after his father. I began to wonder if we had bound you to the same mistake I almost made.”

Violet drew in a sharp breath, to hear her parents admit such a sympathy for her choice as they had never shown when she first made it. “Yet you wouldn’t free me from it then? And you still want to hold me to it now?”

“For that,” Chimalli said, his voice low and heavy, “we ask your pardon. I fear we drove you away.”

Violet thought a moment, then shook her head with a wistful smile. “Not away. Only to the arms of my god. It wasn’t such a bad thing, leaving on pilgrimage. It...changed much. Not all for the better. But things _are_ better now, in some ways. I don’t regret how it all worked out.”

Chimalli nodded. “You weren’t the only one it changed. You’ve said you are friends with Anselm now, yes?”

Her smile grew. “You’re right. He _has_ changed. I would count him among my friends, yes.”

“Then perhaps,” her mother said, reaching for her hand, “it would not be such a mistake, anymore. You might make quite a good match, with him. It would certainly help to keep the peace. And I see how you smile when we talk of him. You could be quite happy.”

Violet’s hand tensed in her mother’s. “But I love Edér.”

A look of pity crossed Izél’s face. “Ah, yes. You clearly do.”

Chimalli sighed. “If that is the end of it, then -- well, the family will manage. But think it through carefully, Violet. There are many types of love, you know. What you feel for Edér -- is it enough to be strong against all the obstacles and complications that life brings? And when those complications expand beyond just the two of you?” Then he smiled. “But I know my daughter, and I think you have the wisdom to follow that love which will withstand. As much as we’d like to help with that decision, it is yours to make. Consider well the consequences of your choice.”

* * *

Violet was, indeed, still considering the consequences of her choice that evening in the garden, sitting by the little pond and staring at the Haven’s reflection on the still surface of the water.

“Oh, there you are,” came Anselm’s voice suddenly, as if conjured by her very thoughts. Violet startled and looked up to see him watching her with the faintest frown, brow furrowed in concentration. “Has...something happened?” he asked.

“What hasn’t happened?” she muttered irritably, looking back to the pond.

A moment later, out of the corner of her eye she saw him sit down next to her. “Well, that’s ominous,” he said.

“Nothing new, I mean,” she relented. “The Haven. The Leaden Key. My mother.”

“Is she worse?”

“A little more every day,” Violet sighed. “But still with us, for which I’m grateful.”

Anselm nodded, still frowning at her. “Is that why you look so…”

Violet narrowed her eyes at him. “What?”

He crossed his arms and glowered back at her. “Pardon if I offend. It’s not often I see your patience troubled by such a...storm cloud as seems to hover in your vicinity today. I’m not trying to read your thoughts, I promise, but you might as well be worrying them out loud.” He sighed and his posture relaxed slightly. “Or the sense of them, at least, if not the reason for your unease. I can’t help catching an echo of it. If it helps to talk, I’m here. If not, I suppose I’ll leave you to it.”

Violet regarded him a moment in surprise, then sighed. “It’s about the betrothal,” she confessed.

“Oh.” He shifted in his seat. “That’s...still an issue, is it? Do you need me to tell them I’m in agreement with you on this? That it’s truly over?”

Violet sat very still and quiet for a moment, hands clasped in her lap. Keeping her eyes fixed on them, she finally asked, in a small voice, “Is it?”

“Excuse me?” Anselm turned to her, eyes wide.

“It’s not just about you and me,” Violet said, speaking slowly as she collected her unruly thoughts to lay them out before him. “My parents told me the history behind our betrothal. And all such arrangements that our clans have made, over all their generations.” Briefly, she relayed the same to him: the Coatls’ arrival in Citlatl and early feud with the Itzlis; the tlatoani’s intervention; the first marriage between the clans and the pact of alliance by which both families had been bound ever since. And she told him of the specific terms and complications of the betrothal that bound the two of them now. “I don’t know,” she added, “what will happen if we don’t go through with it. My parents seem to think your father might make trouble, if he doesn’t get the daughter-in-law they promised.”

“Surely he wouldn’t,” Anselm began, then frowned, looking away. “Would he?”

“He’s done so before. Maybe with your sisters married to my brothers already, he’d be less inclined to do anything rash.”

Anselm nodded. “Then again, if I know my father, the years of waiting for the contract to be fulfilled will have only made him more determined.”

“It would almost be easier just to go ahead with it,” Violet sighed.

He froze. The silence stretched out long enough for Violet to become aware of the subtle sounds of the garden around them: the constant splash of water in the fountain, the leaves stirring in the breeze. Then he asked, “Is that what you want?”

Violet glanced at him with half a smile. “Look at you, so considerate now.”

His smile was strained. “Making up for lost time. I should have been asking you that from the start.”

She nodded. “Is it what _you_ want, Anselm? In all honesty, if I should choose to honor the betrothal, would you want me back?”

“I…” He looked her over, but his eyes settled somewhere past her shoulder. He took a deep breath. “In all honesty, Violet, we might make it work. We understand each other now, I think, better than ever in the past. We’d have the support of our families, and of law and custom. I’d like to think the years since you left me have shaped me into a man who could love you as you deserve, and certainly I would be pleased to call you my wife. Who wouldn’t?”

She heard the hesitation in his voice. “But do you really want to?”

“No,” he said, his smile growing as his eyes returned to meet hers. “Because you’ll never really be mine. We could enjoy a friendship wrapped in the polite façade of a marriage, but you would always regret leaving Edér. I don’t want you on those terms.”

Violet sighed and leaned back in her seat. “No. That would be awful. Well then, I guess that’s settled.”

“It’s been settled between _us_ for months,” he reminded her. “But the clans…”

“I suppose they’ll come to accept it in time,” she said, picking at a loose thread in the embroidery of her skirt.

“What if we hasten that process?” Anselm suggested.

Violet looked up at the wry tone of his words and found him staring as intently at the pond as she had been before he arrived. “What do you mean?”

“A council of the clans established this pact,” he said, his words slow with thought. “And our parents met in like fashion to dictate _our_ lives, in keeping with that pact. But a treaty can be renegotiated. It’s just a matter of finding a compromise all parties will agree upon.”

“So…”

“Let’s call for a clan council.” He spread his hands as if to weigh each family on one open palm. “Present our case, ask for our betrothal to be annulled and the pact to be considered fulfilled in our generation by our siblings who married before us. Would your parents go along with it, if mine do?”

Violet sat up straighter, fingers to her lips as she considered. “I think they’re...sympathetic. They don’t like me choosing Edér, but they’ve left the choice to me nonetheless. If the betrothal could be legally dissolved without stirring up trouble…”

“If my father agrees to it, you mean,” Anselm said, grinning like a dragon poised to strike. “I think I can persuade him. And Mother will go along with whatever I want.”

Violet chuckled at his confidence. “Still so spoiled!” But his face fell and she immediately regretted the remark. “No, that’s unfair; I take it back.” She linked her elbow through his with a gentle squeeze. “Even if you _were_ horribly spoiled when we were younger. But not now. You’ve changed so much for the better.”

“Honestly,” he said, reaching to pat her hand on his arm, “so have you.”

“What, really?” she asked, letting his arm go to lean back and look at him. “I don’t feel so different. I mean, besides being...older. And the whole Watcher thing, of course, but mostly that just works out to being frequently tired; occasionally off in my own strange world, as it were; and...well, responsible for the fate of many a lost soul. Did it change me that much?”

Anselm nodded. “Perhaps that’s it. Or your journey, in its entirety. At any rate, I accompanied your clan to the Dyrwood in pursuit of the girl I remembered, who I hoped would see me in a kinder light than the last time we saw each other. In her place I found...how to say it?” He pressed his lips tight as he thought, his ears flicking back. His voice softened as he began again. “You were always sweet and good and kind, Violet, but you used to want so much to please everyone else. You would do anything to please me, when we were young and finding out what it meant to be betrothed, and I was an arrogant bastard and took advantage of that. You wanted to please your parents, even if it meant going through with a marriage you’d eventually realized was a terrible idea. You tried to please all your siblings, friends, teachers” -- he ticked off the list on his fingers -- “even when it got you pulled between them in their arguments and rivalries. You would do anything to please Eothas -- well, I suppose that was a good thing. But people used to walk all over you, and now? They don’t. You stand your ground, better than anyone I know. You are formidable, Watcher of Caed Nua. And still as sweet and kind and good as young Violet at her best.”

Violet did not feel terribly formidable in that moment. She managed a quiet “Oh,” as she reflected on his words. And a sigh as it occurred to her: “I’d almost decided to marry you after all, just to please my parents, hadn’t I? Maybe I haven’t changed that much.”

Anselm frowned and nudged her knee with his. “Say, then, that your kindness has been tempered with wisdom. Almost decided -- after much deliberation, clearly -- is far from just going along with their plans despite your own misgivings. Besides, now that we know the clan history behind our situation, there _is_ more to it than pleasing your parents, to be fair. Perhaps we don’t have to go along with the clans’ plans for us to marry, but we do have to resolve the situation one way or another. Thus, the clan council.”

She nodded and favored him with a crooked smile. “I suppose you’re right. And thank you, that’s...I think I needed to hear this. Seems _you’ve_ been tempered with wisdom lately, too. And _kindness_ of your own. You wear it well.”

He flushed. “I had considerable time to reflect on where I’d gone wrong, after you left. And I confess, I didn’t like much of what I saw in myself then. But we can only move forward, you know?” He reached for her hand, eyes wide in earnest. “I have many wrongs to make up for -- you know that. But I’m grateful for the second chance, not just _now_ that we’re on better terms, but the fact that you stopped me in my course back when you first stood up to me, and made me rethink everything. You did me a great favor, in the end, and I can only hope to prove myself worthy of it now. Edér’s lucky to have your heart, Violet, but I’m awfully glad to be your friend.”

She squeezed his hand, her smile dawning like the sun. “So am I, Anselm. So am I.”


	28. Light of Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Violet accompanies Lenneth on her visit to the temple of Eothas, searching, as ever, for Glynis' memories to help them understand the Haven.

One thing of which Citlatl had no shortage, Lenneth reflected while hiking up yet another pyramid’s steep steps, was temples. In the days since the Haven launched, she had become quite the regular churchgoer. She had experienced a few more of Glynis’ memories here and there, as she visited a few more of Glynis’ gods. It was mostly snippets of prayers and hymns that her missionary-self had apparently written or at least helped to teach to the people of Citlatl, and it had taken days of poring over every temple’s holy text to collect even those snippets. Despite this sudden deluge of religious reading material and the sense that her soul, many lifetimes ago, had believed in it all very, very earnestly, Lenneth’s own knowledge of the gods still had more gaps in it than Glanfathan cheese -- the really smelly, really holey variety. Holey, definitely _not_ holy, she amused herself. She didn’t think her chuckles at her own private joke were all that loud, but they drew a curious look from Violet nonetheless.

“You don’t usually giggle like this for Glynis,” Violet mused, “so I suppose it’s too much to hope you just remembered something?”

“No, it’s…” Lenneth paused, thinking back. “Just me. Uh, hard to explain? And not actually that funny, on second thought.” She brushed off the moment and smiled at her companion. “So, this one is where _you_ go to church, right?”

“Where I trained and served as a _priest_ , yes,” Violet grinned back at her. “It was a temple of Eothas where you Awakened, too, wasn’t it?” 

Lenneth nodded. “In Tlanextic. Nowhere near as big as this one, but it seemed pretty old.”

“So it should. Did you know, _tlanextic_ is Katl for _Light of Dawn?”_ Violet told her. “The temple of Eothas there is said to be one of the oldest in the region. Perhaps the first one the missionaries built, in fact.”

“Not this one?” Surprised, Lenneth looked up at the summit of the pyramid to which they were now climbing. Dawn’s light, filtered through the Haven’s faint but eerie glow, lit it up really gloriously at the moment.

“No, I don’t think so. Though it is certainly old. But I’m getting the impression, from Lottie’s research as well as your memories, that the missionaries must have gained the tlatoani’s support in Tlanextic before they came here to found Citlatl. That tablet, calling for the tlatoani’s subjects to help defend Citlatl...well, I think he must have converted and then thrown all his influence behind Project Holy City, as it were. But he didn’t overlook the capital city, and neither did the Engwithans. Whether or not the temple where you Awakened was built before this one, Eothas was surely being worshiped in Tlanextic before Citlatl was built.”

Lenneth hummed in thought. “I remembered _writing_ a prayer there. Maybe that was where Glynis did all that sort of thing and we won’t get anything out of visiting this one.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Violet said. “Eothas is especially dear to the farmers of the Plains. There is so much history in this temple. If Glynis was a part of Citlatl at all, and we’ve certainly established that much, she must have been here often.” She glanced up at Lenneth and reached to give her hand a gentle squeeze. “And it _was_ in a temple of Eothas that _we_ last saw each other. Ianthina and Glynis, I mean, before you set out for the Plains. I think one or both of us, in that lifetime, followed him particularly.”

“Well, then it’s like homecoming,” Lenneth said. “The dream team, back together where it all began. Let’s go see if this sun god of yours can shed any _light_ on our situation, huh?”

Violet honored the pun with a light chuckle, just as they reached the top of the stairs and Lenneth followed her into the Upper Sanctuary. Though the pyramid as a whole was far larger than the church in Tlanextic where Lenneth’s life had taken such a dramatic turn, this sanctuary was laid out much like the one she remembered. She guessed it must be a standard Eothasian thing; it probably represented the hours between sunrise and midday or something like that, something minutely symbolic and poetic and full of little metaphorical details by which the properly devout reminded themselves of their faith’s ideals.

It was also very pretty, ornately decorated -- such an abundance of gold _would_ go far to represent sunshine, Lenneth had to admit -- and clearly well-preserved over the centuries by those properly devout orlans. Eothas definitely was dear to the farmers of the Plains, and to the more well-to-do strata of Citlatl society too, she’d say.

She heard priests reciting prayers, just as she had in Tlanextic, but this time no new memories awakened at their prompting. Then again, she hadn’t Awakened in the sanctuary itself in Tlanextic, but in the Rector’s chambers adjoining. It had completely derailed the story she was trying to sell the Rector at the time, of course, but given how things were working out now that Violet -- and Aloth, too -- were helping her figure out what to do with Glynis and her _very_ properly devout memories, Lenneth was prepared to let the demise of that particular con go. So long as Glynis continued to make herself useful. Lenneth was looking forward to helping save the day for Citlatl: not a role she often got to play, especially not as a completely _honest_ hero. It was a refreshing change of pace, working _with_ the law for once.

Which reminded her that this time she was working _with_ an actual, properly devout priest. “Where do you suppose Glynis might have spent her time here?” she whispered to Violet. “I’m not really getting anything from the sanctuary itself.”

Violet shrugged. “A missionary, one of the founders...I suppose she would have had pretty thorough access. I’ll show you around all the parts _I_ have access to, and then maybe Uncle Patli can extend the tour if that’s not enough.”

Lenneth looked at her in surprise. “There’s parts you don’t have access to?”

“I was only a junior priest,” Violet said. “Barely promoted from acolyte when I left on pilgrimage. Also, I have been gone five years on that pilgrimage. I’m...not entirely certain what my status here is, these days.” She blinked back at Lenneth before beckoning her into a side corridor and down a narrow stair.

“Figured you were like the high priestess or something,” Lenneth grinned.

“That’s not an actual thing here,” Violet corrected over her shoulder. “The Rector leads the local congregation and the priests that serve in this temple.”

“So that’s a fancy word for high priest, right?” Lenneth countered. “Rector Violet. Or,” she surprised herself to remember, “for a woman, it’s Rectrix, isn’t it? Rectrix Violet. It has a nice ring to it.”

Violet countered that only with a sigh.

* * *

There were no ancient memories waiting deeper in the temple to ambush Lenneth, it seemed. At least not in the areas open to her junior-priest tour guide. But every inch of the temple swam in a hazy, eerie familiarity. Violet traipsed lightly through corridors and from each story of the pyramid to the next, nodding in greeting to priests with whom she had once served. But Lenneth’s own feet seemed to know where they were going, too. The chapter hall, the rookery, the priests’ and acolytes’ quarters, the refectory; every time Violet named another chamber as they passed through, Lenneth nodded as if she had known that all along. Because, somewhere in her soul’s history, she clearly had. Even more so than the other temples in Citlatl, Glynis must have spent significant time here.

But she must not have spent her time here building a magical Haven, because so far, none of this too-familiar pyramid reminded Lenneth at all of that.

They came at last to the reflecting pool in the lower levels of the temple. While Lenneth was staring down at the still surface of the water, wondering just what it was that supplicants were supposed to see there (and taking the opportunity to smooth down her bangs a bit), she heard Violet at her side, greeting yet another priest.

Not just any priest, though. “Lenneth,” Violet said, “this is my Uncle Patli, who mentored me here as an acolyte.”

Lenneth turned from the pool and put on her most charming smile as she took the elderly orlan’s hand. “Hello, Violet’s uncle,” she said. “You’ve done a marvelous job with her too. She’s had me going to church every day since the Hav-- er, the light in the sky, you know. Since that showed up.”

He returned her eager handshake with a bewildered tilt of his head. “I hope you find what you are seeking, then, young lady.”

Violet sighed and shook her head. “Our search is more mundane than Lenneth makes it sound, Uncle. This strange light, we have reason to believe it was designed ages ago to defend the city, by the same people who also built our temples. They called it the Haven.”

“Oh?” He looked at her, ears lowering. “It’s that old, then?”

“At least two thousand years,” Violet said.

Patli frowned and said, “If it has any connection to Eothas’ temple, I don’t know of it. Though I have heard some of the worshipers name it the Crown of Eothas, in hopes that it’s a good omen, if anything, I suppose.” From his tone of voice, the priest seemed skeptical of those hopes. “But we have no record of such a phenomenon that I know of. Once, Eothas was accustomed to speak to his faithful through the Dawnstars. Could he have chosen a new form now, perhaps as a result of what happened in the Dyrwood?” He fixed each of the women in turn with an incisive gaze. “But you speak of it as a thing built by kith hands, not an omen of the gods.”

“I wouldn’t rule out that those kith had divine help in bulding it,” Violet allowed, ears flickering in a way Lenneth took to mean she was thinking the thing over. “Which is one reason Lenneth and I are looking around the temples, in case there’s a record of it anywhere. But as to whether its appearance now is anything to do with the gods...that seems less likely. But,” she shrugged, “we really don’t know. We’ve gathered some idea of what it is and what its purpose, millennia ago, might have been, but that doesn’t really explain how it got turned on _now_.”

“Or why,” Lenneth added, to be helpful.

“It might be an omen indeed,” Violet said, eyes narrowing, “but what _kind_ of omen -- that depends on the intent of whoever summoned it.”

“Then,” said Patli, “I truly do hope you find what you seek. As for records, I don’t think we have books or anything from that era. Perhaps in the Rector’s private library. I can speak to him on your behalf, Violet. He would surely grant access in these circumstances; you are, after all, still one of our own.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” she nodded. “Could we also...Well, I’ve shown Lenneth around the main areas of the temple, but it’s a big place. There are areas I never even got to see when I served here,” she smiled. “Do you think you could take us through some of the...less public sections? If there is any connection between the Haven and the temple builders, the oldest parts of the pyramid ought to hold some clue.”

He looked sheepishly between her and Lenneth. “I can certainly show you around some of the living spaces, at least,” he said, scratching at his chin in thought. “But the oldest parts, that would be difficult. The Rector’s had to increase security a bit, as of late.”

Lenneth brightened and began to point out that getting around security was a sort of specialty of hers, then thought better of it and just asked, “Oh? Is it because of the Haven? Or has something happened here?”

“Only a minor annoyance, really,” he sighed. “There have been some things gone missing. Food, mostly. Other odds and ends, nothing of great value or significance. But...the Rector seems to think we have a thief among the priests. Can you imagine?” The corners of his mouth lifted as he leaned in to confide in a lower voice, “Whoever _is_ responsible ought to have been wiser than to carry off three bottles of the Rector’s own prized Aedyran brandy. He barely took any notice at the start, when it was just a loaf of bread here and there. In any case, he holds the only keys to the most sensitive areas now. But, again, I’m sure when I tell him of your search, he would be happy to show you through those rooms himself. Just…”

“Not today,” Violet nodded. “I don’t suppose he’s reported these thefts to the Watch?”

Patli shrugged. “It all seems a bit beneath their notice, doesn’t it? Truly, it would be a trifle, if not for the Rector’s brandy. Some acolyte struggling through a growth spurt,” he chuckled, “or perhaps at almsgiving, when the poor come to the temple to be fed, some desperate soul is taking the definition of charity more liberally than we planned for. We can hardly begrudge an extra pie or two to the hungry, can we?”

“Perhaps that’s all it is,” Violet agreed. “And hopefully it won’t stop the Rector from aiding our search.”

“I’ll plead your case to him as soon as I can,” Patli said. “In the meantime, I’ll show you what I can. Just,” he directed a knowing wink Lenneth’s way, “leave all that you see where it lies, especially the brandy, and we shall be fine.”


	29. Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Garivald reassures the merchants of Citlatl that business can proceed as normal despite the Haven. Audie drags Edér along to the meeting. Two more Itzlis turn up too!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally made this chapter work! With that cleared up, there are quite a few more after this soon to be posted. Hope you're ready for a return to Citlatl! :-D

“Stay close, farmboy,” Audie advised as they followed Garivald into the guild hall. “I already have a mayor to look after. I can’t have you getting into trouble, too.”

“You expecting trouble?” Edér muttered back. “At a business meeting?”

If the narrowed eyes and ear-twitches in the Dyrwoodan’s direction from the orlans gathered in the room were any clue to go by, Audie was expecting no less from the Citlatl Merchants’ Guild. “Just because  _ I _ like you and you are the light of our sweet Violet’s eyes doesn’t mean orlans in this city have no reason to mistrust a folk visitor at a guild meeting, knucklehead. Remember, you’re a diplomat today. This’ll be easier if you can earn their trust.”

Edér scowled. His hand reached for his pipe, but he stopped himself before Audie had to say anything and settled for tugging at the hem of his jacket. “Always gotta be earning someone’s trust. Don’t worry, Audie, I know what I’m here for. If there’s trouble, I promise I won’t be starting it.”

Audie nodded. “Just...think before you speak, okay?” Swatting his hand away from pulling at his tunic, she added, “And stop messing with this. You’ll stretch the wool all out of shape, and Violet’s spent days embroidering it. It looks fine; it fits you better than anything else you’ll find in the city, and you look a little less like a backwater farmboy.”

“Less like who I am, you mean? ’Sides, it itches,” Edér complained. He refrained from stretching the fabric and switched to picking at the fur that Yaretzi’s beast of a cat had left all over the garment in the half hour between Edér putting it on and Audie walking with him to the guild hall. She sighed and reached to help, brushing off a tuft of cat hair at his knee.

“Only because it’s newly made. A wash or two will soften it up. Alpaca wool isn’t half as itchy as your Dyrwoodan sheep, anyway,” she grinned. “And you’d better not insult Ginny by whining about wool from her alpaca.”

His eyes widened as he glanced down at the suit Violet had made for him in the local style, which Audie had insisted he wear to the meeting. “That’s your sister with the alpaca farm? Thought we might go out and see ‘em sometime…well, when we’re less busy with the Haven and all, anyway.”

A voice rich with humor and in a drawl just a note too slow for the city joined in from Audie’s side. “What’s this about my alpaca?”

Audie turned just in time to be caught in Ginella’s hug. A rogue strand of her sister’s wild curls caught in Audie’s mouth as Ginella squeezed her tight; Audie laughed as she spit it free and stepped back. “Hey, Ginny,” she smiled. “Edér wants to meet the alpaca he’s wearing, that’s all. You remember Edér?” She crooked a thumb at her companion, who was watching Ginella with the thoughtful look of one running through the Itzli family tree in his head to place her. The next born sibling after Audie herself, Ginny had joined the clan caravan to Caed Nua, leaving her husband and daughters behind to tend the alpaca, but Edér hadn’t seen her since; living outside the city, she had not yet been among the kinfolk stopping by the clan house to visit their mother or their pilgrim sister.

Ginella beamed up at him. “Been a while, but yeah. Nice seeing you again, Edér, and you can come visit the herd anytime.” Her grin turned sly. “Better bring Violet, too. I hear the clan’s still trying to marry her off right under your nose.”

Audie elbowed her. “Not  _ our _ clan. Well, we’re working on it, but Mother and Papa are warming to Edér. Vi’s calling for a clan council to break the betrothal.”

Ginella quirked an eyebrow. “Seriously? Well, what times we live in. I wish you luck, then, Edér.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Glad for any of that we can get.”

Audie nudged her sister again. “You’re in town for the meeting, I take it?”

Ginella rolled her eyes. “Matlal’s worrying we won’t be able to send wool to market because of the, you know, the light, like it’d stop wagons from coming into the city or something. I told him it was probably just signs and omens, marking the end of Violet’s pilgrimage with holy light, but he seemed to think I should take portents more  _ seriously _ , can you imagine? So anyway, since the  _ messenger _ was able to get from the city to the farmers with word of the guild calling a special meeting, I told him I’d go to the meeting and prove a little old portent can’t stop the textile industry.” She shrugged. “Plus, I heard you all’d come home, and I wanted to see you. And Mother. Just in case...you know.”

“She’ll be glad to see you,” Audie nodded. “How long are you here?” 

“A day or two, at least. If you’ve room for a prodigal, that is, with the house all full of guests.” She winked at Edér.

“Plenty. Don’t even think of staying elsewhere.” Audie looked around the room. “Where are you sitting?”

“Over by Corbus,” Ginella said, gesturing to a row near the middle of the chairs drawn up for spectators and lesser guild members, facing the long table at which the mayor and the members of Citlatl’s trade council were sitting.

Audie’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her second-oldest brother. “Maybe I should find a seat closer to Gar. Keeping the mayor safe is half the reason I’m here.”

“Yeah, but can’t mocking the mayor in whispers with me be the other half?” Ginella grinned. “Ignore Corbus, Auds. Or you  _ could  _ try being nice to your brother. Godssakes, it was  _ eighteen years _ ago.”

Corbus, as if on cue, looked their way and grinned wide, waving to his sisters. Audie sighed. “Eighteen years in which I’ve known better than to grow my hair out long again. Although,” a smirk began to break through the scowl she was attempting to send Corbus’ way, “maybe I can tie his shoelaces together while you distract him or something.”

Ginella laughed and tugged her toward their row. “Effigy’s eyes, how I miss the prank wars from before he left home. What’re you to do with a brother who’s grown up and gone respectable? I blame it on Evine.” And thus chattering, she led Audie and a very bemused Edér to their seats just as the meeting began.

As the mayor of Citlatl, Garivald stood to call the meeting to order, then invited the Rector of Eothas’ temple to open with an invocation. That one was followed by a priestess of Woedica, offering a prayer for oaths of trade to be held sacred, and then one of Abydon’s priests, blessing the work of Citlatl’s artisans’ hands. Audie kept one eye on the crowd and the other on Garivald the whole time, ever watchful for trouble. He was a worrier, the firstborn Itzli, and the unrest in the city since the Haven’s appearance had him paranoid that desperate citizens would resort to violence even against his well-meaning person. Audie was here to protect him, on the off chance his outlandish fears came true. And also to handle Edér, because bringing him to the meeting had been her idea, and Gar took that as an invitation to delegate.

Unrest or no, Gar ran an orderly meeting, as always. Representatives of the leading clans sat on the trade council, and the mayor took their comments and questions and suggestions with an impeccable sense of protocol and propriety. Audie could see the anxiety in their postures gradually relaxing, just a bit, as Garivald proceeded stoically through the minor, less emotionally charged items on the agenda. She had to give her brother credit -- even as she and Ginella made good on their plan to lovingly whisper-mock him in proper sisterly fashion. Corbus even joined in a time or two; Ginella was an antidote to stuffy respectability, and even as a settled husband, parent of three, and businessman, Corbus’ humor was never far from the surface either. More than once, Audie barely remembered to hide her smile in time.

In time, however, the council faced the inevitable specter of the Haven. Gar paused and leaned in, lips thinning in a frown as he saw that the agenda had reached that point. An awkward moment of silence passed, frittering at the end into scattered whispers among the audience and shuffling of papers at the council table. Then Garivald intoned: “One last matter concerns the council today. I am certain, good citizens of Citlatl, you are not unaware of the uncanny phenomenon that has sprung up over our city in recent days.” He ended with a smile -- forced, to Audie’s eye, yet paired with his words it drew a chuckle or two from the council members. A diplomatic understatement: who could be unaware of the Haven when it was not only the talk of the town but colored the background of every moment spent under the sky? “Some on this council have expressed concerns for this phenomenon’s effect on the city’s business with our neighbors and trading partners.”

Further down the table, a councilor interrupted: the representative of Clan Xochipilli, Audie thought. “Half my calpulli are stockpiling goods already, afraid to send them past the border. Woedica will take note when contracts go unfulfilled.”

Garivald stared the man down for a few seconds before answering, “Their fears are understandable, if unfounded. Under the circumstances, I will overlook the lapse in protocol, Councilor Paliuhli.” The councilor’s fur ruffled as he shrank back in his seat at the reprimand. “Perhaps,” Garivald continued, “we can assuage those fears with a summary of what has been learned about the Haven -- for that, it seems, is the name of the phenomenon.” Heads turned; ears twitched. Audie watched closely for signs of recognition. Could the Leaden Key have agents even on this high council? If they were behind the  _ phenomenon _ , they might already know what to call it. But most of the councilors were paying even more attention now: leaning forward, setting down their notes, eyes intent on the mayor at this first revelation and the promise of more. A handful were more adept at concealing their surprise, playing it cool, but even there Audie noted the stillness of their bodies as they listened for any help Garivald could give them in understanding the Haven.

He was more frank with this briefing than Audie had anticipated. There was still so little the investigation team knew about the light over the city, but he highlighted most of the facts and a few of the theories that Anselm had given him as they learned more. “The Watch has pursued an explanation for this phenomenon tirelessly,” Garivald assured the people. “The light is magical in nature, drawing power from the ambient soul energy of the city to create an arcane shield surrounding us. It is also very ancient, nearly as old as Citlatl itself, apparently fashioned by the city’s builders for its defense in those early days.”

Another councilor, a woman from the Cozitl clan, hesitantly signaled to speak. Garivald nodded, approval of her following protocol evident on his face, and she asked, “Is there something we must defend ourselves from, then, for it to light up now?”

Garivald’s smile thinned. Audie’s fingers tensed around her knee as she took a closer look at the Cozitl woman. That was the question they all wanted answered most: Why? They had some idea -- more than Garivald had as yet been told -- who had built the thing in ancient times. But who was running it now, and what  _ did _ they mean for it to defend against? Audie was sure Gar had been hoping no one would bring those questions up at the meeting today, possibly undermining his attempts at reassurance. But he answered calmly: “It’s unclear as yet what caused the Haven to activate, but we will get to the bottom of this. The Head of Investigation is pursuing this case personally as his highest priority, and I will ensure the Watch has all necessary resources to reach an understanding of the device and, ideally, take control of whatever mechanisms produce it so that the city may employ it for the safety of all, and only when needed. In the meantime, let me reassure you that the Haven is, by nature, a shield for the defense of Citlatl, not a weapon against us.”

“You’re saying it’s completely safe?” a representative from Ozomatli was shocked enough to ask without the recognition of the chair. 

Gar spared him only a brief look of exasperation before answering, “A field team of investigators -- including several of my own siblings -- have passed through the border numerous times, testing the shield with magic and various other implements, and returned completely unharmed. In fact,” he turned in Audie’s direction, catching his sisters in the middle of a whisper concerning that exasperated look and the mayor’s increasing forbearance with the councilors’ lack of protocol, “one of them is with us today to report on that venture.” 

Audie nudged Edér and whispered, “Your cue, oh brave shield-tester.” He startled at being suddenly called upon, then slowly got to his feet -- unnecessary, since even seated he had already towered over the roomful of orlans, drawing many a curious and suspicious glance. Those glances, subtle enough throughout the meeting, now turned to open stares and eyes wide with shock that the mayor had asked a folk stranger to speak up in the meeting.

Garivald nodded curtly. “Would our guest identify himself to the council?”

“Ah -- right. Edér Teylecg, your honor. Visiting from the Dyrwood.”

There were murmurs at this --  _ not _ one of the savannah folk whose tribes sometimes threatened the orlan clans, then; and where exactly was this Dyrwood, anyway? -- but they shortly quieted under another of the mayor’s exasperated looks. Garivald nodded to Edér again. “And will you tell the citizens how the Haven was determined to be a shield, protecting the city?”

“Well, I guess it started with me running through it,” Edér shrugged. The murmurs swelled again. “Had a feeling it was something like that, see,” he added, “way it just covers the city like one of them domes a lord’ll put over his fancy dinner and such. The others’d figured out it was sucking in magic, but it didn’t seem like it was doing anything else with it. Didn’t hurt when I tried poking it, so I just sort of bashed on through to the outside. Only it didn’t really take much bashing. You can walk through just fine.”

“You and your companions did so, repeatedly, without harm to yourselves?” Garivald clarified.

Edér nodded. “Makes your hair stand on end, that’s all. But magic can’t get through from the outside. Aloth tried some spells; they’ll go out of the city, but not in.” He spread his hands with a grin. “Seems it’s there to shield against magic, that’s all. Aloth casts something like that around himself in a fight sometimes. Haven’s just like that spell, but for the whole city.”

“There you have it,” said Gar, sitting back with a reassuring smile. “It is a barrier to magic, but not to goods nor those who transport them. There is no reason for commerce in this city to be impeded or suspended while we continue to investigate the Haven.”

This time, the Ozomatli representative remembered to raise his hand. Garivald recognized him after the slightest hesitation. “But he’s folk. Could it be less of a danger to someone big like that? Orlans might be at greater risk.”

“Three orlans,” Edér responded before Garivald could either answer the councilor or acknowledge Edér in turn. “Three orlans -- two of the mayor’s family, there, plus Anselm -- and two elves, and me. All of us went back and forth through the Haven a good dozen times, testing things out. Hel, Lenni  _ sat _ in it, right inside the magic wall, for half an hour and she’s still alive and kicking. And she’s small for an elf, almost orlan-sized.” Audie suppressed a snorting chuckle at the thought of an orlan-sized Lenneth, though to be fair, she was much closer to Audie’s height than Edér’s.

“I passed through it, too,” put in Ginella, standing at Audie’s other side, following Edér’s lead in dispensing with protocol. “Came into town for the meeting today, and Edér’s right: it tickles a little, but I got here safe and sound. You lot sent messengers out to the guild members ’round the district, and they got to us just fine.” There were murmurs of agreement from others in the crowd who must have braved the barrier for the meeting just as Ginny had.

Audie stood as well. “I’ve gone through it too. I’ve scouted most of it, along with my brother who’s a crow-hunter for Eothas’ temple. Edér’s gone back with us sometimes, too. We’ve spent days just walking along next to it and often had to go in and out of it to get around obstacles that it sits right on top of. Buildings that weren’t there when the Haven was first installed. I can’t see that our prolonged contact with it has had any effect, either. It’s weird, but it’s safe enough.”

Garivald nodded. “There is much yet unknown about the Haven, but I think we know enough to move forward cautiously with fulfilling our trade contracts. I understand that the merchants of your calpullis may still hesitate to brave the border passage while any questions about the Haven’s purpose remain, but we cannot sit behind that arcane wall forever. To that end, the city government is prepared to offer a reduction in tariffs to merchants transporting goods through the Haven, until such time as the Watch’s investigation of it concludes.” The murmurs in the room spread even to the council table, now, at this incentive. 

Another representative, recognized by the chair when he signaled to speak, asked, “Just how deep a reduction are we talking, Mayor?”

Audie noted the ruffling of Gar’s fur at this cue for the opening of negotiations. He hated to negotiate. He’d have everyone just say what they meant and do what was required of them -- if only the world worked that way. He knew better than to assume the trade council would fall in line with any financial incentive without bargaining for the greatest advantage to their constituents and their purses. So, his voice flat with resignation, he named a modest figure, and the polite bickering began.

Corbus, meanwhile, leaned around Ginella and Audie to whisper, “Hey, Edér. Think the Dyrwood would want to open up any new lines of trade while Gar’s offering reduced tariffs? Strike while the iron’s hot, right? In fact, it’s iron I have in mind. Could use a new supplier for the smiths at the temple of Abydon. You mine it in the Dyrwood, right?”

Edér’s brow furrowed as he considered this. “You know I’m a farmer, right, Corbus? Only mining I know anything about is the kind that involves mucking out the livestock.”

“Might have a buyer for that, too,” Corbus grinned. “Wouldn’t want to be with the caravan transporting it, though. Hey, but I hear Durgan steel is in production again these days. Any chance of a deal there? That’d really put me in good with the Abydonians.”

“Maybe you should talk to your sister about that,” Edér said. “The Watcher of Caed Nua is the whole reason that forge is running again. She puts in a good word, Stalwart might hear you out.”

“And  _ you _ could put in a good word with  _ her _ ,” Corbus added with a wink; then he gave Edér a more serious look. “You court the Watcher of Caed Nua, you’re going to have to get used to her petitioners reaching out to you too, friend.” He sat back, leaving Edér with a thoughtful frown.

And then Garivald’s voice signaled the end of negotations with his sudden, curt “No more than that. After all, we must still be able to pay the tlatoani’s tribute. Especially if we want his aid, in case the Haven is in fact defending us against some threat from beyond the border that we have not yet identified.” And from the looks of things, he had judged the councilors’ mood and means well; all around the table, they nodded with expressions of satisfaction. 

That concluded the council’s business. Councilors and spectators departed with heads raised higher, Audie thought, than when they had arrived. Harmless as it seemed at the moment, she supposed the Haven might yet spell disaster for the city -- what if it started blocking magic again, the way it had when it first appeared? Or what if it had in fact powered up in response to a threat they weren’t prepared to face? Garivald had called for the militia to be ready for anything. When she wasn’t investigating the Haven with her siblings and Vi’s friends, Audie was scouting beyond the border with her squad, looking for any sign of hostilities against the shielded city. They were, in a sense, as ready as they could be. They also had no idea what might be coming, had spotted no threat as yet to explain the Haven’s activation.

But for now, the merchants of the city accepted the mayor’s reassurances -- and his financial incentive. Whatever happened, for now the markets would remain open. And of course, now Gar had all the more reason to hope the investigators gained control of the Haven as soon as possible. Only then would this hard-bargained season of reduced tariffs come to an end.


	30. Craft of Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenneth and friends visit the temple of Abydon, where they learn a little about the Haven's ancient technology from the high priest there - and a little more from Glynis' memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Labor Day is a perfect time to post a chapter introducing some priests of Abydon, right? ;-) They are very industrious at his temple!

“Maybe we oughta try a more direct approach this time,” Edér suggested, as Lenneth and her escorts ascended yet another pyramid on yet another morning, since the Rector had yet to respond to Patli’s request on her behalf and Glynis apparently had nothing more to say for herself at Eothas’ temple, beyond the vague familiarity of the place.

Lenneth cast him a dubious look. Deception was more her style, but visiting the rest of the temples in the guise of a supplicant, or just a tourist, had done little so far to unlock Glynis’ memories or to uncover any other clues to help them deal with the Haven or find Grigor and his Leaden Key pursuers. “What do you have in mind?” she asked.

“Abydon’s worshipers are smiths, builders,” Edér explained. “Might be they’d know something about how you’d go about building a thing like the Haven, how it works. Can’t hurt to ask.”

“If they knew that,” Aloth argued, “wouldn’t they already have taken control of it and put an end to the city’s panic?”

“Who’s panicking now?” Edér shrugged, spreading his palms to gesture to the city around them, going about its business. “Folks seem to be getting used to it. ’Specially with all these meetings the mayor’s been having to reassure everyone.”

“Even so,” Lenneth said, glancing between her companions as she considered it, “having an idea how something works and being able to make it work are worlds apart, sometimes. I mean, we’re talking about technology from two thousand years ago, right? I’m pretty good at a workbench myself,” she grinned, “but I wouldn’t have the first idea how to build or fix or even adjust something the Engwithans made.”

“Still can’t hurt to ask,” Edér persisted.

So when they reached the wide, low doorway at the top of the steps and ducked to enter a wide, square room, loud with the din of the forge where half a dozen sweaty orlans now labored, Lenneth decided to go with Edér’s plan. It took several minutes to get anyone’s attention, and then the teenaged orlan who finally responded to her attempt at a greeting looked much more eager to get back to the clockwork he was assembling on his bench than to talk to visitors. She couldn’t fault him, really; it was some intricate and intriguing clockwork and she was half tempted to ask him what it was going to become and forget all about the Haven.

She might as well have focused on the clockwork, for all the help the boy could offer. The light in the sky was clearly far beyond his training, and at the name “Haven” he looked back at her blankly. Lenneth sighed. “Can I maybe talk to one of the...er...senior priests here? The Rector? Do you have those here, too?”

For a moment the boy looked at her as if she was daft. Then he managed to interpret: “D’you mean Master Mazatl?”

Lenneth latched on. “Yes! That’s exactly what I mean. Can I speak to this Master Mazatl?”

The boy looked back to his clockwork. “I’ve work to do. He doesn’t like us distracted.” He gestured to a doorway between rows of anvils. “Third floor down.”

Happy to view this terse explanation as license, not dismissal, Lenneth beamed. “Okay! Keep up the good work, kid!” and hurried in search of Master Mazatl before any of the other artisan-clergy even took notice of the tall visitors.

The floor on which they had entered the pyramid was near the top, but it was a good exemplar of what the other floors contained. Rounding each turn in the stairs, in brief glimpses of the industry underway beyond each landing, they saw smiths busy over forge and anvil, carpenters piecing together wooden frames, tinkers assembling clockwork even more elaborate than that of the apprentice who had given her directions, and even tailors measuring twice to cut once the pieces that would be stitched into the colorful garments of Ixamitl. 

“Busy place, isn’t it?” Lenneth murmured to her companions as they reached the third floor down at last. It was quieter here -- no ringing of anvils or roaring of fires, no hammering. Still there were workbenches in neat rows, where artisans sat quietly assembling what looked to be jewelry.

Aloth leaned close to murmur back, “Every sort of industry is in Abydon’s domain. All his clergy master some such practical skill, and pass it on to their apprentices.”

“Hm,” Lenneth mused. “Sounds more... _useful_ than religious.”

“Nevertheless,” interposed a gravelly voice to their left, “the pursuit of efficiency and productivity _is_ both spiritual and practical, for those who follow the Smith.”

Lenneth turned to see an orlan man, his greenish tufts of hair braided neatly away from his grey-furred face in several perfectly parallel rows and then coiled in a bun at the back of his head. Beneath a leather apron such as those the smiths on the upper floors wore, his thickly muscled arms were bare. He folded his hands behind his back and regarded the visitors thoughtfully. “It is not often we see...supplicants here, unless there is a need for development of a project outside our usual portfolio.” Apparently satisfied with his assessment, he nodded curtly and thrust a hand forward for her to shake. “I’m Master Mazatl, head of this temple. Why don’t you tell me who you are and what it is you’re looking for?”

“Lenneth Morelli,” she replied as he squeezed her hand in a quick but iron grip. She glanced around, introducing Aloth and Edér, and then went ahead with the plan. “What we want to know, Master Mazatl, is how to build a Haven.”

He tilted his head and frowned at her in confusion. “Haven?”

Her smile faltered. “The dome of light over the city. Edér, if he doesn’t even know its name, I hardly think --”

“The light.” Mazatl’s thick eyebrows rose. “You want to build one?”

“More like deconstruct one?” Lenneth grinned. “We need to know, well, how it works. How it _could_ be built. Obviously, we’ve already got one, so we’ll probably have to pass on commissioning a new one, but…”

“But it’s magic,” Mazatl shrugged. “We deal in practical craft.”

“Right, of course,” Lenneth nodded. “Same, actually. I do a little tinkering myself. Thing is, we have reason to believe the Haven out there _isn’t_ just magic. It’s old, old as the city itself, but _someone_ had to build it. Or build...whatever it is that produces it. It’s supposed to be a shield, and as much as the shield part itself is made up of magic -- soul essence -- there must be _something_ collecting and directing it, something more tangible.”

Mazatl crossed his arms, then raised a hand to stroke his chin. “Well, I’ll be. Machines, mixed up with magic -- you’re talking soulmasonry, aren’t you?”

Lenneth’s eyes widened; she exchanged a look with her companions to see Aloth standing up straighter, Edér shifting feet. “Yes,” she said to the priest. “Definitely. That sounds like...it’s...exactly what we’re talking about. What exactly is soulmasonry, again?”

Mazatl’s eyes narrowed. “Seems you know a lot about this Haven, as you call it. Or maybe it’s all guesses. Now, you call it a shield, and that means it’s protecting something. Citlatl, unless I miss my mark. So I have to wonder, why is it three tallfolk wander into our temple asking so many questions about what it’d take to make -- or _break_ \-- a shield like that over our city?”

Lenneth looked to Edér with a grimace; he shrugged and mouthed, “Worth a try.” But before she could come up with any truth or lie to salvage the Abydonian priest’s trust, Aloth sighed and stepped forward.

“Here.” He held up the badge Anselm had given each of them days ago, certifying them as deputized investigators, working with the Watch. “We mean no harm. We are looking into the city’s...options. On behalf of the mayor and the Watch.”

Lenneth smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “And we’d greatly appreciate any help you can give.” She directed her smile briefly to Aloth in approval, till his ears pinked and he looked away.

“Official, is it?” Mazatl frowned. “Well, in that case.” He beckoned to the group and then turned, walking toward a doorway on the far side of the workroom. “Come have a seat and we’ll talk _options_.”

Crouching again to pass through the orlan-sized door, Lenneth and her friends found themselves in yet another workroom, though smaller and quieter than the upper floors. A pair of anvils, worked by orlans in aprons matching Master Mazatl’s, stood out against the glow of the forge behind them. A third orlan looked up from manipulating whatever metal was heating over the fire as Mazatl and his guests entered.

Whatever either of them might have said was lost on Lenneth for a moment, as the image of the fire and the anvils before her blurred and became, suddenly, a memory of another day -- another lifetime -- and another master craftsman.

_ “That sounds like a local name, Ticatl.” _

_ The fair-furred orlan grinned back at her. “Sounds a lot more common round here than it did back in Engwith, I’ll say. Don’t know if that really means I fit in among the locals, even if that was why I got put on this team.” _

_ She felt her fur ruffle with curiosity and, for a moment, tried to restrain herself. The artisan’s grin only grew, rising at the corners along with his eyebrows, as if he recognized her struggle and was amused by it. Self-consciousness led to indignation, and that gave her the impetus to choke back her personal questions and only ask, very professionally, “I presume you were also put on Abydon’s team for your skill as a craftsman?” _

_ “Oh, yes,” Ticatl said, hands on his hips as he looked around the forge with pride. “Trained as a stonemason since my youth. Picked up a little blacksmithing here and there. Then I was lucky to apprentice to one of the last great soulmasons, when she came with the other missionaries to the village I grew up in.” He gave Glynis a shrewd look and then, kindly enough, added the answers to the questions she had held back. “I was born in the Plains, yes, but further south. Lots of trouble for our kind from the savannah folk round there. I was just a kit when my parents went looking for a better life in the western forests. Ended up in a village on the outskirts of Engwith. Guess I don’t have to tell  _ you _it was better there, for orlans. Didn’t matter what kind of kith you were. My best friend, growing up there, was a folk boy.”_

_ Glynis was moved to smile, thinking of Ianthina -- wondering if she’d received the letter Glynis had addressed to her, tucked in with the formal request for engineers sent back to headquarters. “Mine was an elf,” she shared, and Ticatl nodded. _

_ “Anyway, I learned the soulmasons’ trade too, while we were building Abydon’s temple back home.” He gestured to indicate the newly-built temple of Abydon where she had come to meet him. “Not that soulmasonry is a skill we often get to put to use anymore. The Engwithans like letting the gods do all the work now, my master would say.” _

_ Now? Glynis wondered in momentary confusion, but it was more important to ask: “But the shield that we’ve discussed, that is something you can do?” _

_ “Gods willing,” he winked. And then the first hint of doubt slipped past the confidence he wore so naturally. “The thing is, Rectrix ix Llewi, I was lucky to learn as much as I did of soulmasonry, but it’s something of a dying art. My master...there were things, I think, she wanted to teach me but she’d only heard of them herself, didn’t know how to pull them off. You’re talking about gathering and redirecting souls enough to ward the whole city…” _

_ “Not souls in their entirety,” Glynis hastened to clarify. “It should draw from the ambient essence. It’s to protect the people, not weaken them.” _

_ Ticatl narrowed one eye, scratching at an ear as he considered. “Delicate work. But I like the idea. Gods willing…” he repeated. _

_ “They are,” Glynis said with the certainty of all her dreams. “I’ve seen it in visions, the Haven. This is a thing the gods have ordained for Citlatl.” _

_ He looked at her as if her visions might manifest in his presence, so long as he didn’t break eye contact. “Don’t suppose they’ve ordained a blueprint?” _

_ She lifted her chin, determined not to be the first to look away. “If that is what we require, I shall bring it up in my prayers, Soulmason Ticatl.” _

“Ticatl,” Lenneth whispered along with Glynis as the vision faded. Ahead of her, Master Mazatl beckoned the group over to a workbench with chairs enough drawn up for them all. She blinked and glanced around to find Aloth and Edér watching her. 

“You all right?” Edér asked, and she nodded, automatically at first, and then more confidently as the world stopped spinning.

Aloth frowned. “Glynis?” he guessed. “You only hesitated a moment, but…”

Lenneth nodded again. And then turned at the polite but insistent cough from Mazatl. “Tell you later,” she whispered before the three of them joined their host at the workbench.

“Soulmasonry,” Mazatl began, as they settled into their chairs. Lenneth’s breath caught, at first, to hear him echo what the craftsman of her vision had described; remembering that Mazatl had brought the topic up first, at her clumsy questioning out in the larger workroom, she nodded and waited for him to continue. “In this day and age,” he said, “it’s more legend than anything. It’s not the same as what we hear of folk in the Republics and the Dyrwood doing, with their machines that measure and manipulate the essence of a soul.”

“Animancy,” Aloth defined.

“Right. Animancy,” Mazatl nodded once. “Similar concept to soulmasonry, or at least similar aims, but in practice I believe they diverge greatly. Whether these animancers built on the old techniques or just worked it all out from the start for themselves, I can’t say.”

“Do you know how to do this soulmasonry, then?” Lenneth asked.

Mazatl uttered a booming laugh; briefly, the priests working the forge glanced his way. When, at his stern glance, they returned to their work, Mazatl shook his head and continued, quieter, “Oh, no, Lenneth Morelli, I do not. No one living knows that art. It’s said our ancestors could build machines that drew on the same essence used for magic. It’s said their machines could touch the very soul. But whatever wonders they worked, they didn’t pass down those techniques to us.” He shook his head again. “That craft is lost. But you seem to think this Haven is built on such knowledge.”

Lenneth nodded. “I also think it was built back when that knowledge was still common. Or at least not so totally lost.”

“They built to last, then,” Mazatl grinned. “Though...legend also holds that our temples go back to that age. So you might be right.”

“If we are,” Lenneth pressed, “could you tell us anything about how such a machine might work? Like...what components we might be looking for? Or how it would function, exactly? Whether it could be dangerous? I mean, the Haven doesn’t seem to be causing any trouble at the moment, but we don’t want to take that for granted and just wait until something goes wrong.”

Mazatl frowned, massaging his jaw in thought. “Well, you’ll understand why I can’t be of much help with the practical details. But in theory...it’s a shield made of magic essence. If it’s formed by machines, not by magic spells, stands to reason there’d be some part of that machine gathering the essence, some part of it converting it into this shield, and some part of it governing the shape and positioning of the shield. Could be all handled by one machine, from what little I know of the ancestors’ arts. But for a shield this big, could be more complicated than that. Different functions controlled by different components of the machine, positioned where they’re most effective. They’d have to be coordinated or linked in some way, whether in their own systems or in a team of operators working each part.”

Aloth stirred, to Lenneth’s right, and laid a hand lightly to her arm. “Remember -- the adra spires along the border…”

“Adra is likely to be involved in the ancestors’ soulmasonry,” Mazatl confirmed, casting shrewd eyes upon the wizard. 

“Wonder what’d happen if we, ah, experimented a little with the spires,” Edér suggested from Lenneth’s left.

Aloth bristled. “While the Haven is in operation? I can’t imagine the spires are anything but delicately tuned and calibrated to -- produce it, or govern it, whatever is their function. Tampering with them could be hazardous.”

“So that’s a back-up plan,” Lenneth nodded. “In case of emergency only. But there could be other components to the machine?” she asked the priest.

Mazatl shrugged. “I remind you, this is all speculation. If I knew the art of soulmasonry and had in mind to build such a system, yes, there would be other components. But perhaps, _if_ I knew the art of soulmasonry, I would know better than that.”

“Of course,” Lenneth said. “Still, you’ve been a great help, Master Mazatl.” _And so has your forge, in its way._ “Thank you for your time. We’ll let you get back to work now.”

He waved them out the door, content to let them find their own way out as he did indeed get back to work. As they headed toward the stairs, they passed a pair of artisan-priests heading back to their workbenches. The brown-furred woman glanced up at the visitors and smiled, but the grey-furred man took them in through narrowed eyes, then clutched to his chest something rolled up in leather and hurried away.

“Sorry,” the woman apologized for her friend. “Don’t take offense or anything. He gets paranoid whenever someone new comes through the temple. He’s sure every apprentice is here to steal his tools until proven otherwise,” she laughed lightly. “And we’ve just come back from replacing the ones he was missing, so he’s a little on edge. Nothing personal.”

“His tools went missing?” Lenneth asked, glancing toward the workbench where the paranoid man, apparently a jeweler, was now unrolling his leather and sorting out the tools clustered within.

The woman shrugged. “Oh, they’ll turn up. Someone probably borrowed them when they couldn’t find their own. It happens. I was missing my file and two sizes of pliers this morning, myself.” She waved a leather roll like her friend’s. “All set now, and the walk to the storeroom makes for a nice break, anyway. Master Mazatl disapproves, but order and efficiency take time to develop.” With this, she waved affably and wandered off to her own workbench.

As soon as they reached the pyramid’s exit and started back down the steep steps, Lenneth quietly relayed to her companions the contents of her vision. 

“Glynis seems quite the visionary,” Aloth noted at the end, eyebrow quirked. 

“Starting to feel like one myself,” Lenneth laughed. “Maybe it was all just an Awakening of her own, what she thought were visions from the gods telling her to build that thing.”

“Whatever the source, it’s clear that she had much to do with its construction.”

“Wonder if she actually got the blueprints she prayed for,” Lenneth said. “Or if this Ticatl had to figure it all out himself.”

“Least we got a new name to work with,” Edér grinned. “That’s something. Vi can write it out for Lottie to look for, see if Ticatl was mentioned anywhere.”

Lenneth nodded. “One step closer.” And with that, one last step brought them to the courtyard surrounding the pyramid, and they turned toward home, to add a name to Violet’s list.


	31. Detour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Routine gives way to discovery on Anselm and Lottie's walk to the office.

“Wait,” said Yolotli, tugging at Anselm’s arm halfway through their morning walk to the mayor’s hall. “Let’s go this way.”

He shot her a questioning glance but no objection, lengthening his stride to keep up with her. The walk to work was usually a leisurely matter, and a companionable one in the days since she’d begun turning his office into her research center. Breakfast with the Itzlis was always livelier than at his own home, with all his sisters married off and only his parents still at the Coatl estate for company, so of course Anselm turned up early to collect Lottie for their part of the investigation and to check in on the rest of the group’s progress, all while enjoying Violet’s peculiar muffins.

It was a short walk after breakfast to the central districts. Sometimes Lottie passed that time by regaling him with the highlights of her overnight research, the things she would have been sharing moment by moment as she came across them, had she read those parts in his office. On other days she would show off her progress with the wards he had been teaching her, by challenging him to read her mind. This was, in practice, essentially just another way for her to share those research highlights, or whatever other curious facts from her encyclopedic knowledge she felt like displaying at any given moment, since the method he was teaching her of warding one’s mind from a cipher was a matter of planting a red herring in one’s thoughts -- focusing on some image or phrase or memory vivid enough to deflect further probing. Lottie was becoming fairly adept at weaving a fence of her favorite  _ did you knows _ over the surface of her thoughts. Anselm suspected the surface of her thoughts had been full of such research tidbits all along; it was only a matter of arranging them in a way that would discourage a cipher from looking any further. And being sure to tuck away any of her more  _ significant _ knowledge beyond this fence.

As her pace quickened now from their morning stroll to one of determined pursuit, Anselm found himself turning his mind toward hers, out of habit, as if this detour were but another round of the games they’d made of his skill and her defenses. He glimpsed none of her random historical facts this time, though, but a brief image of the map she had pinned up in his office, as if it were moving -- or as if her view of it were moving as the two of them walked a new route. “Wards up, Lottie,” he muttered a reminder, withdrawing from her thoughts before he could see anything she didn’t mean him to; then, “Where exactly are we going?”

“I took Xipil’s map of the Haven border,” she explained, braids slipping over her shoulder as she glanced to him, “and sort of superimposed it on the ancient map. Xip plotted the center of the Haven to be somewhere in the temple district, you know.”

“Right,” he nodded. Just a few nights ago, Xipil and Audie had reported on the conclusion of their border patrols. The circle of the Haven’s dome encompassed a fair portion of the modern city, considering that Citlatl must have grown beyond its original size in the last two millennia. The Engwithans had apparently built it to last -- an assertion borne out by the fact that here it was, shielding the city once more, generations later.

“So,” she continued, “I was trying to figure out exactly where in relation to the temples it would be. Near the temple of Eothas, I think, but not  _ in _ any of the actual temples themselves, if we both measured everything right. But then on the old map, there  _ is _ something there, about where the center should be.”

“Is there?” he asked, intrigued. “ _ Only _ on the old map?”

“That’s just it,” she grinned. “It looked like some sort of structure around that area, probably a tower, if I’m reading the old map right, but I can’t think of any such tower in that area nowadays.”

“So this is an expedition to find out where your tower’s gone.”

She laughed, her merriment resonant with the thrill of the chase. “As if it just picked itself up and walked away!”

“You know,” he mused, “I wouldn’t put it past the Engwithans to have built a walking tower.”

Lottie hummed, tugging at a braid. “That could be really useful, now that you mention it…”

Anselm chuckled, watching her face light up with ideas. “If we don’t actually find a walking tower,” he said, “you’re going to end up building one, aren’t you?”

She turned wide eyes on him. “I don’t know the first thing about tower construction!”

“No?” He shrugged. “Ten to one, by the end of the day, you will.”

* * *

“I don’t know  _ exactly _ where it would have been,” Lottie admitted as the two of them wandered wide boulevards of the temple district looking for the elusive tower. “The thing is, that ancient map isn’t quite up to modern standards of cartography. The proportions are...questionable.” She stopped and turned in a slow circle there in the middle of the street, tugging at her braids in frustration. “It should be -- or  _ have _ been -- somewhere near here, I’m sure. Between the temples of Eothas and Abydon. I just can’t say how far it was from either of them, or what street it was on, because the streets on the ancient map don’t have names listed and they look completely different from the current layout anyway.”

“We’ve been all over between those temples,” Anselm sighed. “Maybe it really did walk away. Or maybe what you took for a tower on that map was something else?”

She looked prepared to argue, then deflated a bit. “Maybe. I was so sure, but…” She barely glanced at him, then turned toward the route back to the mayor’s hall. “We may as well go. Sorry for wasting your time.”

Anselm nudged her arm as they walked back. “It seemed a good lead, Lottie. Following a lead is what we do, right? Even if some of them turn out to be dead ends. Can’t know that till we follow them up.” This drew a slight smile from her; encouraged, he added, “Take another look at the map when we get back. Maybe we can figure out some other landmarks to pin down that tower’s location; or maybe we can come up with another interpretation besides a tower, or…”

He was looking at her as he spoke, but beyond her something caught his eye and his suggestions trailed off as he came to a stop. Lottie, a few steps later, turned back to see what he was looking at.

The boulevard opened onto a broad plaza, paved with stones of many colors in an intricate mosaic. Beyond it rose the elaborate facade of the ixtapaluca, a palace of several stories, several eras’ worth of renovations and new wings added to old wings in slightly different architectural styles each time, yet with an enduring elegance and grandeur binding the whole edifice together.

And many corners of the palace, in a style not unlike the manor where the Itzli clan lived, though here executed on a far grander scale, were rounded with towers.

“Or maybe,” Anselm finally gave voice to his thought, “we were overlooking the possibility that a lone tower might not  _ stay  _ lone for two thousand years.”

Lottie’s eyes widened and she drew closer to him, as they gawked like tourists at the palace they’d walked past all their lives without a second thought. It was the tlatoani’s residence when his circuit of the orlan tribes and cities brought him to Citlatl. At the moment, he governed from Tlanextic, the capital; the palace here would be nearly empty, save for a skeleton crew of household staff and administrators like Lottie’s own father. 

“It is in about the right place,” Lottie whispered.

“It might not be the ixtapaluca, all the same,” Anselm cautioned. “Other buildings around here incorporate towers, surely.”

Lottie gripped his elbow suddenly, her other hand pointing toward the tower at the northwest corner of the palace. “That one looks a little older than the rest.”

“How can you tell?”

“The stonework’s darker than the others. And it looks like there’s more weather-wear at the joins between stones, too.”

Anselm grunted thoughtfully, looking from the northwest tower up to the sky, where the Haven still shone. “So if we’re right, this is the very center of the Haven. Hard to tell for sure from inside the dome.”

Lottie’s grip on him loosened as she, too, looked up. “No sign that the tower’s connected to the shield or anything.”

“Still.” He frowned. “It’s the ixtapaluca. We won’t get in easily.”

“Papa has access, of course,” Lottie said, “but that doesn’t extend to his children. Can’t you say it’s Watch business? We  _ are _ investigating a mystery here!”

“Most places, that works. Here, a little more preparation will be best. Even when the tlatoani’s away, his residence is thoroughly guarded and they’ll want more than  _ my _ word that we have business there.” He turned to grin at her. “I’ll have your brother sign papers or something. What’s the point of being mayor, otherwise?”

She giggled and then started walking again, along the boulevard toward the northwest corner of the palace, tugging Anselm along. “Look, there’s adra in with the stonework.”

He peered closer and saw what she meant, little tendrils of shiny, smooth green outlining the arches of windows and woven in with the crenellations at the summit of the tower. It did seem to be an element  _ only _ of this one tower, but every wing of the ixtapaluca had some such idiosyncratic design element, testament to its centuries of expansion and renovation, and to its residents with more stubbornness than aesthetic sense. “It could just be decorative.”

“But that’s an Engwithan technique, using adra in architecture, whether it’s functional or not. This tower’s got to be older than the rest.”

He nodded as they continued walking around the borders of the ixtapaluca, doing their best to look no more curious than the average passerby, nodding affably to guards patrolling its grounds. The guards’ scrutiny as they passed was brief and no more intense than Anselm would expect for their duties, but as he and Lottie rounded the corner and turned onto a smaller avenue between the ixtapaluca grounds and the rest of the temple district, he couldn’t shake the impression that they were being watched. It might be only the eyes of more guards tracking them, but then again...He tried reaching out with cipher senses in search of other minds nearby. The guards’ mental presence was easily found, right where they should be. Reaching further, he sensed no other presence; and yet still that sense of someone watching. If he wasn’t just imagining things, someone out there must have wards on their thoughts far more developed than any he’d yet taught Lottie. “Come on,” he said, nudging her away from the palace grounds and back towards the road to the mayor’s hall. “The sooner we talk to Garivald, the sooner we can get in there.”


	32. Ixtapaluca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lottie and Anselm hurry back to explore that suspiciously central tower...Maybe it's just for storage? Or maybe it holds some answers.

Yolotli kept her eyes wide open as the tlatoani’s guard led the way through the more public parts of the ixtapaluca, the parlors and galleries to which those with a legitimate cause to petition the tlatoani would be directed when he was in residence to hear their appeals. She’d seen a portion of the vast palace once, as a child, accompanying her father on council business. But she’d had years since then to read up a little on the changes the ixtapaluca had undergone throughout generations of the tlatoanis’ rule. She tried to listen for anything significant in what the guard was telling them, while also analysing what she could of the decor and architecture of each wing they walked through. These parts of the palace, after all, were just a curiosity for now, not likely to be connected to the Haven. The real investigation would begin when they reached the northwest tower.

_ Zir Tallan. _ That was the label the ancient map gave to her elusive tower. She recognized the archaic Katl word for  _ Tower _ , but the  _ Tallan _ part...perhaps a name? The tower’s builder or one of its former residents? It was no Katl word she knew of. But when she asked the guard if the tower had a name, he only looked confused. To those in residence, apparently it was just the northwest tower. If that corner of the ixtapaluca and Zir Tallan were the same tower, the name was clearly lost to history.

She had not had time to, as Anselm had predicted, learn everything about tower construction while he was explaining to Garivald why they needed a writ from the mayor granting them access to the northwest tower. Perhaps if she’d stopped by the Academy; but the archives of the mayor’s hall were more...archival than practical, full of the annals of the city’s history and various documents related to cases prosecuted by the Watch, censuses of the population, proclamations of mayors and tlatoanis throughout the years, and so forth. The annals might, somewhere, make mention of a tower being built but would not go into detail about  _ how _ it was constructed. Thus she could only really guess about the age of Zir Tallan, or what purposes it had served over the years.

The guard was explaining now what purpose it served in the present day. “Mostly storage,” he said, sounding apologetic. “Structurally it’s fairly sound, we think, but a bit worn. We don’t use it for much.” He looked between the two investigators, brow furrowed, and asked, “Why was it the mayor wants you to have a look at it, again?”

Anselm answered in all honesty, prompting the guard’s eyebrows to raise in surprise, “It’s possible the tower has some connection to this dome of light surrounding the city.”

“Saints!” the guard exclaimed. “Well, wouldn’t that be something? I don’t know how, though. It’s just an empty tower. Well, mostly empty -- the storage, you know. Hardly anyone ever goes in there. Of course we do keep it locked up fairly tight,” he added, as a thought crossed his eyes, “and I’m not sure why, for storage.”

“Can you tell us when that tower was constructed?” Yolotli asked, crossing her fingers he wouldn’t name a date less than two millennia ago. The tower’s central location was one thing; to really be connected to the Haven, it most likely had to be built in the era of Glynis and her fellow missionaries.

It was both a frustration and a relief, then, when the guard shrugged an apology. “It’s old, I guess, but can’t say I ever heard specifics. I don’t normally show visitors around, you know. Can’t tell you much. I hope you know what you’re looking for, because I’m really just here to unlock it.” He jangled the keyring at his belt.

“We’ll just have a quick look around, then,” Anselm said. 

The guard, looking relieved at this assurance, hastened his steps till they reached an arched doorway at the corner of one long gallery. To the left, a hallway led off into other parts of the palace, bypassing this imposing and firmly secured entrance to a tower so seldom used. Tendrils of adra wrapped the stones of the tower’s entry arch. The door itself was carved of stone, with intricate designs etched into the surface. As the guard sorted through keys on his ring, Lottie stepped forward with a delighted gasp to trace her fingers over what she recognized as runes of the Engwithan language, though they made up none of the words Violet had as yet taught her.

“Hold on there, miss, till I…” the guard advised, looking nervously at her hand on the door. Lottie snapped her hand back to her chest as quick as if burnt by a hot griddle. “There we have it,” the guard finally smiled; he set a key in the tall door’s surprisingly small lock, and with the slightest click, the door swung silently open.

Despite the guard’s dismissal of the tower as merely storage, there were signs of habitation as the investigators followed him through its first two floors. Lottie drew Anselm’s attention to a hearth on the first floor, with a dome carved from stone over the fireplace. “It’s an oven,” she said. 

Anselm took a closer look at the hearth, still bearing the dusty remnants of coals gone cold lifetimes ago, and then crouched down to glance up inside the oven itself. “Not that different from ours at home. Did they have ovens like that two thousand years ago?”

“I think so.” She shrugged. “Then again, you’d think ours would be a little more developed by now. Maybe the tower’s not as old as we thought. Although that was definitely Engwithan on the door!”

“Maybe the kitchen was recently renovated,” he grinned. “Relatively recently, that is. Within the last millennium, more or less.”

In another room they found a veritable hoard of tools of various sizes and functions: chisels, hammers, mallets, clustered in a number of small baskets and boxes. “This was a workroom, maybe?” Lottie guessed.

Anselm sorted through the scattered tools, lining them up on one of the less crowded shelves with a frown. “These are for working stone, I think.” He glanced around the room, small and dusty, crammed with other crates and barrels besides the collection of masonry tools. “Hardly room for such work in here, even if all the boxes were cleared out. The actual workroom must have been elsewhere, but here the stonemason stored the tools of the trade. Whether they’re as old as the tower itself, though -- I can’t tell. Can you?”

“I wish,” Lottie sighed. “They do rather stand out, though. Everything else in here looks like just the sort of  _ storage _ our friend there,” she flicked an ear toward the guard, waiting at the door for the visitors to move on, “keeps talking about. Stacked, labeled; some palace housekeeper has a system there. But these are just sort of jammed in the corner here. Odd place to store tools if anyone on staff has a use for them, so they must be old enough to be forgotten, at least.”

Anselm grunted thoughtfully, holding up one of the chisels for a closer look. “Like the Haven itself. They’ve certainly been out of use too long for me to track any soul essences that once clung to them. Onward, then?”

Onward and upward; the guard led them up a long staircase, spiraling around the inside of the tower’s outer wall. Through arrow-slit windows placed every so many steps, they could look out at slowly shifting angles over the cityscape. Enthusiastically, Lottie pointed out the landmarks that became visible as they rounded the tower: nearby, the temple of Eothas; further, the mayor’s hall; once they’d climbed high enough to see past the temple district, she could even spot her own house. Anselm chuckled at her game, but by the time the climb brought them out on top of the tower, she’d drawn him in to spot  _ his _ house, too, along with the rest of the district’s temples.

And then they were on the top of the tower, with views unimpeded over the full span of Citlatl. Zir Tallan, if this was once so called, stood taller than most of the other towers in the ixtapaluca. The palace grounds around them were neatly landscaped, with vast gardens and orchards tended by royal groundskeepers and patrolled by watchful guards. Beyond the ixtapaluca, the holy city of the orlans teemed with life.

Over it all, the Haven still shone, faint but constant.

Nothing seemed to connect this tower to the dome of light, as far as Lottie could see. No obvious pillar of arcane energy stretching from here to the sky; no contraption of adra and copper to control the essence in the shield, like the ancient machines in the stories Violet told of the Dyrwood. Just a platform in the sky with an exceptional view of the light above and the life below. Leaning on the rail to gaze out at the skyline, at the outskirts of the city where they’d stood within the Haven’s field, she sighed and glanced to Anselm. “Dead end, I guess.”

“Lovely view, though,” he said, leaning on the rail beside her. “I wonder what the ancient citizens thought of their magic shield. If it was always on, like this, they must have grown accustomed to it.”

“We’ve had it little more than a week ourselves and people seem to be getting used to it,” she agreed. “It starts to seem harmless after a while. And if the original settlers were told it was a shield -- if they even saw it repelling magic attacks against the city, protecting them long enough for Citlatl to be established -- I suppose they would have greatly appreciated it.”

“The gods’ defense of their chosen people, made visible,” Anselm mused. “Even if it was no miracle, but a defense of the missionaries’ making.”

“It is rather miraculous looking,” Lottie admitted. “And maybe building it was a bit of a miracle, too, if Glynis’ visions were from the gods. If we don’t figure out what’s causing it soon, maybe the city will grow content with it. Lenni says the priests at most of the temples she’s investigated have theories linking it to their gods. It’s the Crown of Eothas, Berath’s Shroud, the Eye of Wael, or an omen of Hylea or whoever people would like to believe is behind it. Some people are still scared of it, but it’s gone days without apparently hurting anything, so...maybe it never will, and it’ll just go on making us the shiniest city in the Plains and Gar will give up on having us fix what doesn’t seem broken.”

“I wonder, though, if it is so harmless. The energy it apparently siphons from the air: is that so inexhaustible a supply?”

“We use it ourselves for magic, and we never deplete it,” she reminded him. And with a quick chant, one of the first she’d learned, she summoned that energy, those spirits, into an ephemeral, prismatic butterfly, hovering at Anselm’s shoulder for just a moment until he smiled and she dismissed them back into the swirl of spirits ever at her disposal -- and at the Haven’s.

“Not yet exhausted, then,” he said. “But how sustainable is this Haven? It negated  _ all _ magic when it first appeared, as bright as it was then. This milder light that it has now doesn’t seem to interfere, but what if it just takes longer, this way, to burn all the essence available in the city? The energy it absorbs, does it eventually restore those soul fragments to the atmosphere for you to draw on? Or will your butterflies, sooner or later, not come when you call?”

“That would be a shame,” she said. “So we’ll just have to keep digging and find out how the Haven works, at least, even if we never manage to turn it off.”

Anselm nodded, pushing away from the railing. “Back to headquarters, then. We’ve seen all we can here.”

Lottie agreed, but hesitated, looking out once more at the city beneath its shield. Finally, summoning her butterfly again, she turned and followed Anselm and the guard back down into the tower.

Having spent the whole climb up this long staircase admiring the view out the windows, on the return trip Lottie found her attention drawn to the inward wall instead. Like the rest of the tower, it was built of stone, with large blocks cunningly carved to fit together with smooth joins. Time had weathered those joins on the outside, as she’d seen on their walk this morning, but the inner walls were more intact, clearly well preserved and carefully maintained for some lifetimes before this tower became such a sidenote in the ixtapaluca’s resources. Even this stairwell wall was not without ornamentation, carved in some places with elegant designs -- though no more of the runes -- and threaded occasionally with adra veins. She passed one place where the stone blocks making up the wall were larger than the rest, and the adra and the carvings together formed an archway that rose to a point just over her head. Lottie frowned for a moment as she considered this irregularity in the decoration, wondering if the patterns carved in the stone within this archway had any meaning, but then her summoned spirit-butterfly flew past her in a twinkle of arcane sparks, and she hurried to keep up with the others.

But then she passed a second faux-archway and again paused for a closer look at its patterns. She was almost certain none of the carvings formed runes, but there was  _ something _ to them...if she followed  _ that _ line, from the center of the panel, out toward the adra-laced archway...or if she looked only at  _ that _ cluster, isolating it from the rest of the elaborate design…

Just ahead, Anselm and their guide vanished around a turn in the stairway and she again hurried to keep up.

At the third adra archway, curiosity could be denied no longer. Lottie reached out to trace the carving with a finger. From the center, out to the adra edge. From the edge, along another line back to the center. Then, as she laid her hand full against the leafy whorls carved dead center on the stone panel, with a faint click like that of the tower entrance’s lock, and with a pinkish light swimming along the carvings from center to edge as fast as her butterfly could flit, so fast she soon thought she might have just imagined it -- the panel swung aside and Lottie stood agape, staring into a chamber beyond.

Barely aware of Anselm’s and the guard’s voices, intent on whatever discussion they were having just around the corner, Lottie stepped from the staircase into the hidden chamber and straight into the past. A determined and undiscerning layer of dust covered every surface. Nothing here was simply  _ stored _ , that was clear: it was thoroughly abandoned, forgotten for many lifetimes. There were no boxes or barrels, but there was furniture: low benches draped with tattered tapestries that must have been colorful once, now faded with time and coated with dust; tables against the walls and a lower table between some of the benches, with pools of wax here and there where candles must once have burned; containers of various sizes, reminding her of vases and chests for linens and -- oh! Along one wall there was even a scrollcase, not of wood but carved in stone, its delicate shelves cleverly fitted together in the crisscross pattern that formed pigeonholes for each precious document. Lottie beelined to the case, prodding carefully at what remained in the pigeonholes. Scraps, mostly, to her deep disappointment. Then again, the deterioration of the parchment scrolls abandoned in this case was at least a clue that they might be  _ right _ about this tower after all. Parchment with a shelf life of over two thousand years would be a lot to ask for.

But even if she found no scrolls in their entirety, the scraps themselves might shed light on the tower. Collecting a few of the larger, more legible-looking pieces, she found herself wishing for literal light to be shed on these ancient chambers; all the windows, it seemed, were back in the stairwell, on its outer wall. Their light was streaming through the hidden door she had opened. Back toward that door, then, she hurried, straining to read the parchment scraps as soon as she had light enough to decipher anything. On most of them she saw more Engwithan runes, mostly meaningless to her.

Mostly. One word caught her attention. Violet had taught it to her among the words for  _ Haven _ and all the gods, days ago, but it was the first time Lottie had actually seen it written by any other hand than her sister’s:  _ Glynis. _

Then from out in the stairwell, further down the tower, she heard Anselm’s voice calling back, “Lottie?” 

* * *

Even if the ixtapaluca’s northwest tower didn’t turn out to be Lottie’s mysterious centerpoint, or even if its position at the center of the Haven’s field were mere coincidence, and even though they had found no trace in the tower of a connection to the Haven, Anselm thought it best to check everything off the list while they were there to investigate it. He walked ahead with the guard as they descended the tower, questioning him about the basics: who had access to the tower, whether any strange activity had been noted in the area, whether anyone unfamiliar had recently visited the ixtapaluca. Intent on tracking down any potential blip in the palace’s ordinary routine, he didn’t even notice Lottie’s absence until suddenly her summoned butterfly fluttered past him. Anselm looked back and realized that the butterfly was unaccompanied by its puppeteer. The stairwell was empty, even after he paused for her to catch up, expecting her to come smiling round the corner at any moment, full of questions and obscure trivia about towers.

She didn’t. His heart fluttered in fair imitation of her summoned spirits as he recalled the sense he’d had, as they walked past this tower hours ago, of someone watching. Someone hidden even to his heightened senses. “Lottie?” he called, worry growing as he turned to march back up the stair. Whoever was watching, surely they wouldn’t have access to this tower with its guards and its locks. Surely no one could have snatched her away, right under his nose, while he was so focused on his questions. Surely --

“In here!” he heard her answer, faint and further up the stair than he would have guessed. But much closer than he had feared. So when he rounded one more turn and saw her waving at him -- out of an opening in the wall? -- his first instinct was to rush forward and catch her in a relieved embrace. 

Stepping back awkwardly a second later when he realized he had not, in fact, reasoned past first instincts and maintained propriety, he saw her looking safe and whole but a bit startled by his greeting. What lay beyond her, however, was more than enough to distract from explaining his moment of worry. Anselm gaped at the open chamber that had lain hidden the first time they climbed this stair. Seconds behind him, the guard caught up and swore in surprise.

Lottie beamed with pride of accomplishment, as her summoned butterfly flew in and out of the open archway. “Come see what I’ve found!”

* * *

While the guard went looking for lanterns in all those storage rooms, Lottie showed Anselm the scrap of parchment with Glynis’ name. “I can’t read the runes at all,” he reminded her, “but if you’re sure…”

“Fairly sure,” she confirmed, bouncing on the balls of her feet in anticipation. “Still, the sooner we show Violet, the better.”

Anselm nodded. “It seems this is your ancient tower, after all.”

Lottie grinned as she tucked the parchment away in a vest pocket. “I’m a little disappointed it’s not the walking variety, but hidden chambers do a lot to make up for that! I don’t suppose anyone knew this room was here. It’s even dustier than the archives.”

“From the guard’s reaction,” he said, glancing back down the curve of the stairs as they waited for that one to return with the lanterns, “I’m sure he had no idea. How did  _ you?” _

“Oh, that was a total surprise! The best kind,” she laughed. “I was just looking at this panel with the adra.” She gestured to the archway surrounding the now-open gap in the stone, then to the door panel itself, now tucked against the chamber’s wall. “It opened when I touched some of the carvings.”

Anselm hummed, reaching to run a finger along the marks she indicated. “Yet from the look of the dust in there, no one else has opened this door in a long time. Did they not think to try?”

“It’s not obviously a door,” she shrugged. “More of a decorative wall panel. No sign of hinges or edges or anything, not until it started opening. Just the archway shape of the adra, which…” Her eyes grew wide. “Anselm. There are two more arched panels like this, further up. This was just the first one I tried touching. Do you think…?”

“I think,” he said, “the only question is whether we ought to wait for the guard.”

She bit her lip at the dilemma and then concluded, “I say we try the doors -- if they are doors -- now. We can wait for the guard to actually go  _ in _ .”

“Fair enough,” he said, and she led the way further up to the next adra-lined arch. The carvings on this panel were, as far as she could tell, identical to the door panel further down. Eagerly she reached for them, placing her palm in the center as she had done before, and with that same tiny click, flare of light, and smooth, silent motion, the door swung back to let the first light in centuries, she was sure it must be, into another dusty, hidden chamber. 

Lottie and Anselm peered into a circular room like the one below; a bit smaller in circumference, she thought, as the tower tapered gradually to its rooftop. In the light from the doorway she could just see what appeared to be the frame of a bed, though its mattress and linens were, if anything, even more tattered than the fabrics on the couches in the first room. Before she could step in for a closer look, Anselm caught at her arm.

“Waiting for the guard, remember,” he grinned, and then leaned in just far enough to run a finger over the door’s carvings. “Does it close the same way you opened it?”

She glanced to the door panel. “I’m not sure. Opening is all I’ve figured out so far.” So she tried now, placing her hand again to the center of the panel. This time, no response. Lottie pursed her lips and tried another spot, then another, first haphazardly but then, with a closer look at the patterns of the carvings where the door had responded by opening at her touch, she found a cluster of designs a little above and to the side of that area that were nearly the mirror image of it. At her touch to that sigil directly, the door slowly swung back toward the stairway. The orlans hastily stepped back out of the way as the panel settled into place as smoothly as it had opened, till once again it appeared to be no more than a section of the wall.

Lottie twisted a braid in her fingers as she leaned in to study the carvings again. “Wonder if there are other things it can do, depending on where you press…”

Just then, a “Hello?” in the guard’s voice echoed up from the next hidden door down, and Anselm tugged at Lottie’s arm. “First things first.”

They found the guard holding a lantern into the lower room and peering around as if to find his guests hiding behind one of the couches. He jumped at their approach from the next floor up, but Anselm smiled and asked, steadying the guard as he backpedaled and almost toppled back down the stairs, “No one knew this room was here, then?”

“Oh, no,” the guard shook his head. “At least, I suppose higher up, maybe? The tlatoani ought to know what’s in his own house. Maybe the councillors.” His guests exchanged a look as Lottie’s thoughts went to her father. “But me? Nah. Never guessed. Of course I haven’t been in here looking for things like that, either.”

“Someone once lived here,” said Lottie, arms spread wide as she stepped through the door and into the center of the room. “I wonder how long ago it was abandoned, closed off with these doors to hide it away.”

“What I don’t see is how this turned into a door,” the guard said, looking closely at the open panel. “I never saw more than the wall when we walked by it.”

Another look passed between the investigators. “Well, they ought to know, I suppose,” said Lottie.

Anselm nodded and turned to the guard, beckoning him out into the stairwell again. “Just, please, don’t let anyone clear it out until we’ve been able to thoroughly search it. We do have reason to believe the tower is associated with the dome of light after all, so it’s crucial that no evidence be disturbed.”

The guard nodded, looking a little nervous and confused, as Lottie followed him out of the chamber and turned to the door. Knowing now what patterns to look for, she easily found the sigil for closing and palmed it; the door swiftly swung back into its perfect seal. The guard watched with eyes wide as if only thus could he fully grasp what was going on. He let out a low whistle. “It’s just gone!”

“Not quite,” Lottie said, taking his hand and pulling him up to the door. “Here. Set your hand there, right on this carving. That opens it.”

The guard hesitated and then complied, pressing his palm where she showed him. But the door did not budge. It appeared as if the guard was simply leaning up to the wall for a closer look, but it remained a wall.

“Oh dear,” Lottie murmured. “It worked before. And on the upstairs one.” The guard’s ears twitched at her mention of the other room, but she nudged him out of the way. “Here, let me try again.”

Without hesitation, the door responded as before to her touch, swinging open directly. She bit at her lip and then palmed the closing sigil again. “So it does still work.” She glanced to the guard. “Give it another go?”

He did, still without result. “Anselm?” Lottie turned to him. “I wonder if it’ll work for you?”

Anselm shrugged and stretched out a hand to try. At first it seemed no more responsive to him than to the guard, but after a moment the lights flared, the click sounded, and the door opened, more slowly than at Lottie’s touch, but open in the end all the same.

It took several more minutes of testing after that, at the first door and then also at the one above it, to establish that she most certainly had the magic touch, Anselm had some fainter version of it, and the guard had it not at all. No matter how the poor man tried, tracing the carvings, placing his palm over any patch of them that looked meaningful, he faced only a wall.

“Well,” Anselm concluded as the men stood back while Lottie once more opened the formerly secret door on the second level, “this might explain why no one had entered these rooms in so long that they’ve been forgotten. I wonder if anyone on the household staff  _ can?” _

“Whoever once lived here obviously could,” Lottie noted.

“I can ask the others to come round and try,” the guard said uncertainly. “I must report it to my superiors, at any rate. Just to think that we’ve had a place like this hidden away for so long that no one knew! Well, it’s a security issue, isn’t it?”

Anselm nodded. “Let us finish our investigation first, though. If others in the household would be able to enter, they may tamper with things my partner and I need a closer look at.”

While Lottie was distracted a moment with enjoying the title of  _ partner _ , the guard shrugged. “I don’t know what there is to find. Looks like a bedroom in here and a sitting room below, and most of the furnishings are more than half the way to being dust.”

“I still want a closer look at the scrollcase below,” Lottie said. “Anything legible among the parchment scraps could be very helpful.” She brightened then, remembering: “But there’s also the top floor!”

“What? The roof?” asked a bewildered guard. “You’ve been there already, and I don’t know how there’d be a hidden room on it.” 

“No, right below it,” Lottie said, hurrying up the steps to the first arched panel she had noticed. By the time the others caught up, that door too was opening to her touch.

Here, the lantern light proved superfluous. The hidden chamber, round and just a bit smaller than those below it, was lit by crystal-in-adra settings identical to those in the archives Lottie had spent so many days combing. That detail barely registered, however, as their eyes all fell on the towering contraption of adra and copper that took up the center of the floor. 

Lottie gasped and grabbed Anselm’s hand in both of hers, aquiver with excitement as she clung to him. A smile spread slowly over his lips as they took in the device hidden in this room. The column of stonework supporting it was laced with pointed arches, through which an adra core faintly gleamed. Above that, far over their heads, tiny spires of copper flared out from the column at frequent intervals, forming a delicate collar around a dome-shaped mass of adra at the top, carved with runes she recognized as Engwithan. Circling the dome, a copper ring, similarly carved, was slowly rotating with no apparent support connecting it to the rest of the machine. “Well,” he said at last, “it seems we’ve struck gold with this lead of yours, Lottie.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “All the stories Violet’s told about the machines in the Dyrwood, I never realized they were so beautiful. Do you think it really is part of the Haven?”

“The odds of that seem better every minute we’re here.” He stepped into the room, treading carefully, leaving tiptoe footprints in the dust that covered what appeared to be an elaborate mosaic floor where tendrils of adra wended their way between tesserae of colored stone. Lottie stayed near, still gripping his hand; the guard followed a few steps behind.

“Is this what you were looking for, then?” the guard asked, looking around uneasily.

“Most likely,” said Anselm as he paced a slow circle around the device.

“Can it…” the guard paused at what he deemed a safe distance, leaning to keep his eye on the investigators as they rounded the machine. “Can it turn off the light over the city, then?”

“I suspect so,” Anselm said. “Only one way to find out.”

But on closer inspection, the machine’s workings proved as hidden as the room itself had long been. Lottie pointed out what she recognized as Engwithan runes, but they were no words she knew. Both of them hesitated to experiment, with the Haven that this device might or might not control poised ominously over the city. Fortunately, they knew someone who’d dealt with such devices before.

Anselm beckoned to the guard and the three of them exited the chamber again. As Lottie palmed the door closed, he said to the guard, “Hold off on reporting this to your superior or to the rest of the household staff. Leave this tower’s secrets safely locked away just a little longer.” He grinned at Lottie. “Once again, I believe it’s time we called in a specialist.”


	33. Oathbinder's Court

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A full complement of escorts accompany Lenneth to the last of Citlatl's temples, seeking clues to the Haven in Glynis' memories of Woedica's court. There, also, Violet seeks help in finding a way to annul the contract betrothing her to Anselm.

Violet shivered in the late morning sunlight as she navigated the streets of the temple district toward the one temple Lenneth had not yet explored. The Exiled Queen’s temple in Citlatl followed a layout similar to the others: a stepped pyramid, built up like a layer cake from the courtyard below, where petitioners milled about before climbing a steep stairway into the goddess’ sanctuary at the top level. But, like most of the temples, it was a place busy with far more than mere worship -- or say, rather, that worship of the Engwithan gods went beyond the ceremonial and sacred into the minutest details of life. Whatever pursuits of kith belonged to a deity’s domain might flourish with their blessing. The temples were designed to facilitate such work as pleased each god. As Hylea’s tower sheltered artists and poets, and Abydon’s rang with artisans’ labors, each level of Woedica’s pyramid housed those occupied with the everyday business of law and justice. Just around a corner from the mayor’s hall, where Anselm oversaw the Watch’s investigations, a less grand door opened onto a lower level of the pyramid, where Woedican judges pronounced the fates of kith the watchmen caught in crimes. 

To this very practical door, rather than the upper sanctuary, Violet led her guests. Lenneth might visit other temples with a minimal escort -- just in case the Leaden Key were still after her, though it was days since they had tried anything like the ambush in the Tlacu marketplace -- but after the Hollowborn Crisis, Violet preferred to keep out of the Exiled Queen’s gaze. And she preferred not to send Lenneth to Woedica’s temple without ample reinforcements, especially remembering how the Leaden Key was  _ never far from the Queen _ . She would have preferred keeping away from this temple entirely, but Lenneth seemed to have learned all she could at the other temples. They couldn’t risk leaving this last stone unturned in search of the Haven’s secrets. So Violet and Audie and Xipil accompanied Aloth and Edér in escorting Lenneth today, leaving Yaretzi, as well as their sleeping mother, in their father’s care. 

They rounded that corner to where the mayor’s hall stood opposite Woedica’s. Violet paused and considered stopping by the Watch headquarters to recruit the final two members of their party away from their research, but -- surely now she was worrying overmuch. Six of them could handle one temple. They’d never needed more than six for all the challenges the Dyrwood threw at them. And this was just another of Lenneth’s attempts to draw out Glynis’ knowledge, not a challenge to the Queen herself. Nothing, Violet assured herself, was going to go wrong.

A familiar weight rested on her shoulder. She looked from Edér’s hand up to his wry grin, a veil, as it were, for the concerned crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “Hey,” he murmured. “You seeing souls round here? Got that stare again.”

Violet shook her head. “No. My own memories, this time.” She nodded up to the sanctuary at the pyramid’s apex. “ _ She _ never forgets, either.”

Edér’s grin hardened. “Let her remember. Rather be on your side than hers any day, after what she tried to do in the Dyrwood.”

Violet slipped an arm around his waist in their usual lopsided hug. “I’d rather have you on my side any day, too, dear Edér.” She glanced over her shoulder at Lenneth, whose sharp eyes were moving swiftly from one detail of the pyramid and its courtyard to the next, taking everything in. Aloth, at her side, was looking as nervous as Violet felt, but that was nothing unusual for him, and she knew him to be capable should any of their worries come to pass. Audie looked ready for anything, as always, her hair tied back with a ribbon of Itzli blue embroidery, eyes narrowed as she watched people hurry past, sizing up any potential threats. Xipil looked vaguely uncomfortable in the temple district’s crowds, but he caught Violet’s glance and smiled back at her. Yaotl looked overwhelmed with joy at all the smells competing for his attention; he ranged around the group, ahead and behind, following trails for curiosity’s sake alone, then bounding back to his master. All in all, Violet had no lack of confidence in this team. She smiled and turned back to the justiciary door. “Remember,” she said, just loud enough for the group all to hear, “we’re just here to see Otzan. Hopefully something down here will speak to Lenni. If not, if we need to visit Woedica’s sanctuary, be cautious. The Queen and I are not on the best of terms.”

“So who’s this Otzan?” Edér asked as they advanced toward the temple again. 

“My brother-in-law,” Violet answered. It was a convenient excuse for them to visit the courts within the temple, but in the hurry to get a team together to escort Lenneth, she hadn’t really explained this part of the plan. “He’s a clerk in one of the courts, a specialist in...contract law.” Her fur ruffled and she barely glanced at Edér. “We’ve talked about calling for a clan council to see if Anselm and I can have our betrothal annulled -- but we haven’t  _ officially _ called for it, yet. I thought, perhaps, Otzan could help us.”

“A Woedican clerk, helping to break a contract?” Edér looked skeptical.

“Not break it. Ideally, we can convince both clans to withdraw from it. If they won’t...well, Otzan is a Champion of the Letter.”

Aloth snorted. “I’ve had some dealings with them. Specialists in contract law, indeed. Specialists in tying negotiations up in so many revisions of any little bit of paperwork, to be sure nothing at all can be misconstrued, that nothing would ever get done if they had their way.”

Audie chuckled. “Congratulations, you’ve described our brother-in-law as precisely as one of his own contract revisions.”

Violet sighed. “So, if the clans won’t yield...maybe Otzan can find a loophole.”

“Have I met this one?” Edér asked. “Who’s he married to?”

Violet shook her head. “Zaniyah came to Caed Nua without him. He didn’t like the idea of being away from work that long, apparently.”

Edér’s grin widened till his eyes narrowed to only a twinkle. “This Otzan’s married to your sister Zaniyah, huh? Can we call ‘em both Zan for short?”

Audie’s laugh this time was as hearty as the approving slap she now aimed at Edér’s back. “Oh, now we’re going to  _ have _ to!”

Somewhat apprehensively, given the undercurrent of giggles from her sister and suitor, Violet led the team to the office where Zaniyah’s husband served the goddess in his own minute way. They found it unoccupied at that hour, however, and a series of underclerks and acolytes, questioned politely, were finally able to point the visitors to the chamber where a priestess called Canuatla now presided as judge, with Otzan recording the proceedings.

* * *

Lenneth found this temple, even down here in the less holy and more business-like parts, far less welcoming than the others she’d spent time in lately. Perhaps her sense of foreboding was due only to her own history: she’d survived most of her life by never taking the law  _ too _ seriously, not if it got in the way of the basic needs of three orphaned siblings, and so she had as good a reason as Violet to avoid coming to the attention of a goddess fixated on law and order and all those pesky things Lenneth had to work around. Even now, in the company of these fine,  law-abiding kith, and with the official sanction of the Watch, she was careful not to make eye contact with the Woedican clerks and priestesses they passed.

Violet led them to Canuatla’s court. They found a trial already in progress, with the priestess, swathed in ceremonial robes and a truly impressive hat, hearing arguments and appeals from an imposing chair on a high dais. Four scruffy-looking orlans stood before her, heads bowed and hands bound behind their backs. Canuatla’s fur was the whitest Lenneth had yet seen on an orlan, and she looked a wilder strain of the race than most of Citlatl’s population, with little of her greyish skin showing through the haze of fine fur over her face, while her mane of white hair was set in enormous, stylized curls beneath the headdress. 

Canuatla was questioning the prisoners as Lenneth and her escorts quietly slipped into the back row of spectators. Something about looting -- Lenneth recalled hearing reports of looters taking advantage of the brief chaos when the Haven launched, days ago, and she couldn’t really blame them, if an opportunity like that presented itself and you were hungry and desperate and had the wits not to panic with the rest of the city -- but the details were confusing, as half the time it was clearly about the looting, but the rest of the time…

“You are accused,” Canuatla was addressing the prisoners in a solemn voice, as if weighted down by the hat, “of abusing the Bright Night to conduct the theft of twenty loaves and fifteen bags of rice from the bakery of Inetzitl in the Zumetl calpulli.”

_ “...of abusing the Haven’s essence for your own gain,”  _ she heard like an echo of the judge’s declaration. Lenneth frowned. Yes, abusing the Haven, using it as a distraction for their theft, that was what the accused seemed to have done, but something was off about the judge’s voice...

The prisoners exchanged guilt-laced glances but did not answer Canuatla immediately. Nearby, a woman in Watch uniform stepped forward and spoke up, “We’ve witnesses who saw them at it, Your Grace. The baker and his family had taken refuge in their cellar, due to the sky-light appearing out of nowhere as it did, and they heard these lowlifes rummaging around up in the shop. The baker surprised ‘em when he opened the cellar door, he did, so they ran off with just so many loaves and rice as they’d managed to gather already, but he got a good look at ‘em and he’ll swear these are the thieves.”

The judge nodded. She addressed the prisoners again, her brow furrowing as her words took on a sterner tone. “Moreover, you are accused of the theft of…” she glanced to an unrolled scroll of parchment in her hands, “numerous items from the kitchens of this temple, intended for the priests’ meals. I do not deem it necessary to enumerate the specific items in the hearing of this court at this time, but,” she glanced to her right, where an orlan with his dusky, reddish hair neatly slicked back into a tight ponytail sat furiously scribbling on a parchment before him, “Otzan, I will provide you this list to be copied to the official record when the proceedings have concluded. See that you leave space for it.” She glared back at the prisoners. “It’s quite long.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” said Otzan, pausing in his scribing only long enough to roll the parchment several turns forward, without even glancing up at the judge.

There was a murmur among the prisoners, growing ever since Canuatla had mentioned the temple kitchens, and then one of them finally dared look up to the judge and protest, “Effigy’s eyes, Your Grace, that wasn’t us!”

“You deny the charges?” Canuatla said, in a tone that suggested the prisoners’ objection was synonymous with their doom.

_ “You deny it?” _ Lenneth heard again, in that strange echo.  _ “Mayor Illotan, you stand accused by no less than three high priests of the gods of Citlatl, as well as the architect of the Haven itself. Would you call them liars? Would not the Haven’s makers know how it was misused?” _

Illotan? Mayor? What had any of that to do with --

Oh. There was another trial going on here, she realized in a moment of startled insight. Just not before  _ Lenneth’s _ eyes. Canuatla was questioning the looters. The echo, the parts that didn’t quite fit  _ this _ trial, that was  _ Glynis’  _ memory. Another judge, another defendant, but still the Haven lay at the heart of it all. Lenneth stopped trying so hard to follow Canuatla’s line of questioning and let her consciousness drift back into the echoes of a trial held two millennia ago. Ancient voices grew stronger in her memory, while before her eyes the four looters seemed to vanish, and in their place stood an orlan with sleek brown fur, elegant robes topped with a heavy sash of green embroidered with white threads, and a stance of defiance as he faced a judge like and yet unlike Canuatla: a priestess much younger than the one holding court in the present day, but in ceremonial robes and thick stylized curls of pale golden hair that made her truly difficult to distinguish from Otzan’s superior. Also, the fashion in judicial hats clearly hadn’t changed much in two thousand years.

_ “I misused nothing!” the accused man retorted, squaring his shoulders. “The essence had built up to the point that some of it must be vented, that’s all. I acted for the security of the city. To keep the Haven stable.” _

_ A sardonic snort of laughter sounded to her left, and Glynis glanced to Ticatl at her side. “It  _ was  _ stable,” he argued; his lilting voice echoed in the vaulted chamber. “I know my work, Your Grace. I’ve calibrated that dome every morning for four years now. Ideally, the flow of essence fuels the shield steadily, without drawing in so much that the excess must be vented. There’d be no build up at those settings. If there was,” he directed a glare at the mayor, “someone tampered with it.” _

Lenneth blinked, and it was not Ticatl but Aloth at her side, his hand light in hers as he studied her face with a frown. The moment she returned to the present, he must have seen it in her eyes; his own widened, and he squeezed her hand and whispered, “Are you all right?” Lenneth grinned, and raised a finger of her free hand to her lips, and as he fell silent, the sight of him fell away and, with only a slight shift in the angles from elven sight to orlan memory, again she looked on Ticatl, whispering,  _ “The whole Council’s a risk, Glyn. I’d as soon trust no one but you at the controls.” _

_ “And yourself, of course,” she whispered back, feeling the fur at her neck rise with warmth as his hand brushed hers. _

_ “Well,” Ticatl admitted with that crooked grin, “I know what I’m doing, don’t I?” _

_ The judge again addressed the accused. “You do not deny, Illotan, that you discharged the essence without the Council’s approval?” _

_ Now the mayor’s posture lost a little of its defiance. “I acted within my rights,” Illotan insisted. “As a member of the Council of Citlatl, I share in the charge to manage the Haven for the defense of the city.” _

_ The judge leaned forward. “And what did you do with the essence thus discharged?” _

_ He straightened again, confident in his response. “Defended the city, of course. I’ve used the Haven’s power only against the heathen Coapa at our borders.” _

_ “An act of war, without Council approval,” shouted a man in the crowd. Glynis recognized the voice of Berath’s high priest. _

_ “Of defense!” Illotan retorted, but his voice shook. _

_ “Illotan,” said the judge, her voice low, as if to soothe, and all the more frightening for that, “what then of the reports that have reached me? What of the fields of Xochiquetzal, which came into your possession after the sudden death of their owner? What of the Awakening that drove Yolinoch, whom the Council first nominated to serve the city as mayor, into madness and ruin?” _

_ Illotan’s eyes grew wide. “Do you mean to say that I could’ve caused an Awakening? Surely that power lies with the gods alone!” _

_ The judge’s piercing gaze turned to Glynis and her companion. “Rectrix. Soulmason. You know the Haven better than any of us. What say you?” _

_ Ticatl nodded without hesitation. “It shouldn’t happen ordinarily, not in the gathering of essence at the  _ prescribed _ rates, nor if kith come in contact with the shield during its normal function. That’s all safe enough. But discharging the essence, when there’s a surplus, means wielding more soul energy than any mortal alone could handle. If the operator used it to get a look into a person’s soul and...poke around a bit, an Awakening could be triggered.” _

_ Illotan quivered. “That still doesn’t prove I had anything to do with Yolinoch! I swear, I only discharged the energy against the Coapa. I had every right to --” _

_ The judge sat up straighter on her throne. “Here, before the Oathbinder, you would swear your innocence?” _

_ “I --” Illotan swallowed, but stood his ground. “Yes. I swear, I am innocent of these charges. All that I did was within my rights.” _

_ Glynis saw the flare of divine knowledge within the judge, the priestess of Woedica, as she slowly stood, looming over the accused mayor with her towering headdress. “Fool. By Woedica’s memory I declare you foresworn. I find you guilty of abusing your position to accelerate the Haven’s draw and to direct its energies for your own advancement. You are sentenced to death by strangulation --” _

_ As she went on with the full sentence, Ticatl’s breath stirred the fur of Glynis’ ear as he leaned in again to whisper, “He won’t be the last. The more of the Council that have access to operate the Haven at their discretion, the more it’ll corrupt.” _

_ “They’re not supposed to access it without Council orders,” she reminded him. “That’s half the point here. Illotan wasn’t supposed to have that kind of unrestricted access, and if the Council’s oversight were working as it should, he couldn’t have done all those things unless everyone signed off on it. I still want to know how he got in to the tower without our knowledge.” _

_ Ticatl hummed low. “Don’t know about that, but I’ve an idea how to keep the next fool from trying it.” Still whispering, though the sentencing was over and the disgraced mayor was being escorted from the court in chains, Ticatl twined his fingers with hers. “There’s room in the tower for living quarters. Could be right cozy, and an occupied tower wouldn’t be so free for anyone who knows the Haven’s access words to march up and meddle with it. Live with me there, Glyn. You and the baby and me, a proper family.” He’d got her attention now; the court went on dispersing around them but she turned to him in astonishment. Ticatl grinned and drew her closer. “You heard the judge. No one knows the Haven like you and I. Who better to be its gatekeepers?” _

_ “Ticatl,” she managed at last, feeling the heat in her cheeks as her eyes fell to his crooked grin, “are you -- are you proposing to me under the guise of civic duty?” _

_ “If that’s what it takes,” he admitted. _

_ “But the Council would never…” _

_ “It’s not the Council I’m asking to marry me, Glyn,” he noted. “But if  _ you _ will, I think we can handle the...official ramifications.” _

He was leaning in to kiss her, Lenneth thought, when the vision came to an abrupt end. She huffed in disappointment, even as voices nearby began to recenter her in the present. The neatly-coiffed little clerk, his scrollcase tucked under his arm, was hurrying toward the Itzli siblings with a polite smile. “Violet! Audrisa! This is unexpected, I must say. Why, even Xipil! What brings you to court today?”

Lenneth hung back as they exchanged greetings. “Still all right?” Aloth’s whisper at her side startled her out of a wistful attempt to replay in her mind’s eye the memory her soul had just revisited. 

Shaking herself out of it, she grinned up at the wizard. “I’m good,” she whispered back. “So’s Glynis, I think? That was...very informative. And intriguing. Tell you later,” she winked, and they stepped forward to join the group as Violet introduced Otzan to her guests.

“Well, this is highly irregular, but even so, it is good to see you,” said the soft-spoken Otzan. “I’m sorry Zaniyah and I haven’t been to visit oftener. It is very sad about your mother, but the courts have been so busy,” he said with a faint huff as if he’d gone to chuckle and stopped midway from embarrassment.

“Busier than usual?” asked Audie.

“Oh, not so much,” Otzan shrugged. “Even given the unrest since this so-called Haven appeared. A city of this size cannot help but tempt kith to ill deeds, so there is always plenty for the Queen’s servants to set right. Especially,” he favored Violet with a warm smile, “since your betrothed has returned to work. The Watch do keep the courts busy when he’s overseeing them; admirable efficiency, I must say.”

Violet had stiffened at the mention of  _ betrothed _ , and now she sighed and said, “It’s about my  _ betrothed _ that we wanted to talk to you, Otzan. Do you have a moment?”

He looked at her uncertainly. “Well, I...there’s the transcript of the proceedings just concluded, of course; I do need to insert that list and file final copies of everything, but…” 

Audie crossed her arms. “Consider it an official consultation, if you must. Surely you have a few minutes for a client.”

His eyes widened. “Oh! I mean -- well, no, I’m sure that won’t be necessary. Not for family. Come, we’ll speak in my office.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the party followed Otzan down into the lower levels of the pyramid. He had at first been aghast at the notion of annulling Violet’s betrothal contract, but the suggestion that perhaps its terms would not quite hold up to scrutiny had drawn him in. His eyes grew wider and ears fluttered faster with every detail Violet added to her explanation of the betrothal’s complications. “Subcontracts!” he had breathed in near ecstasy. “Why, that is very complicated, indeed. The terms of each addendum must be very carefully drawn up, lest any detail should invalidate what was agreed upon in the initial arrangement…”

“The thing is,” said Violet, leaning in, “I don’t think the document was ever vetted by one of your order before it was signed.”

Otzan’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, that is most unfortunate. It would be so easy for small but significant inconsistencies to go overlooked without an expert opinion.”

“Would you be willing to give such an opinion?” Violet smiled. “We mean to call for a clan council to discuss the situation, and our...options. I would greatly appreciate it if you could attend and advise the council on the contract’s legality.”

He shifted in his chair. “Well, the courts are very busy, but…” And then he stood suddenly, puffing out his small chest. “I should very much like to have a look at it, nonetheless. Such a curious combination of subcontracts. If all is, somehow, in order, it must be quite a work of art.”

And so he led them into the underbelly of Woedica’s temple, where court records like the one he’d scribed today were stored, along with copies of all such contracts and binding documents as that which had dictated that a Coatl son should marry an Itzli daughter. Violet’s first thought, as they wound their way through a maze of hallways all lined with shelves and scrollcases, neatly labeled, was that it was a pity she hadn’t brought Lottie along today after all. Who knew what her scholar sister would find of interest in court records and contracts, but she would surely enjoy discovering it and then telling them all.

“Almost there,” said Otzan, leading them around a corner of a corridor lined with scrolls, floor to ceiling. “Court records occupy most of this floor. Private contracts, such as yours, are the next floor down.” He glanced back at Violet. “Organized chronologically, of course. What year was your contract made?”

“Shortly before I was born, so 2798, I think,” said Violet. “Or perhaps ’97. Or...wait,” she frowned. “That would be when they added the subcontract for Anselm and me specifically. The original contract...that was before Gisela was born, but I’m not sure how long before. Goodness, let me see...Mother and Father were married in 2790, and Gisela is...how old now?” She looked to Audie, who shrugged.

“Well,” Otzan said, with a smile that thinned his lips with strained politeness, “that narrows it down a bit, at least.”

“It was before Gar was born, too, wasn’t it?” Audie offered. “So between ’90 and ’94, if that’s any better.”

“Somewhat,” Otzan sighed. “Unfortunately, I do still have today’s transcript to file…”

“We can find the scroll, then,” said Audie. “The place seems decently organized.”

“Oh, it is!” Otzan agreed. 

“Tell us what to look for,” Audie grinned, “and you can get back to work.”

He winced as if encountering a bitter olive in his first bite of a tzopi ball instead of sweetened fruits. “It’s highly irregular…”

“We won’t cause any trouble,” Violet assured him. “And it  _ is _ my betrothal contract, after all. Surely I would be allowed to see it.”

“Well, yes…but such documents, without the necessary legal experience and knowledge to interpret them, are easily misconstrued.”

“That’s where you come in,” Audie winked. “We’ll find it, you can interpret it.”

They had reached the stairs down to the next level, where Otzan had said the contract should be filed. He hesitated, chewing at his lip as he glanced between Audie and the stair and the path back to his own office. “Perhaps,” he finally proposed, his voice thin and nervous, “you could swear by the Queen-that-Was to seek out the relevant document as swiftly as possible and to refrain from meddling with any other records filed here? Not that I don’t trust you, as famiily,” he hastened to assure them when Audie’s eyes narrowed, “but my position and my honor --”

“Very well, Otzan,” Violet sighed. “I swear on Woedica’s burned throne that we will look no further than we must to find my contract and bring it, and only it, directly to you for interpretation. Will that do?”

His shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes, thank you, Violet. Now then, down these stairs,” he waved quite unnecessarily that direction, “you’ll find the contract rooms.” And he went on to explain how the shelves were organized, how to find the records filed from 2790 to 2794, and how to read the notations on each scroll case to determine which one held the contract concerning her betrothal. Then, with obvious relief, he fled and left them to it.

They exchanged glances for a moment. Violet sighed. “Right. Now I really wish Lottie were here.”


	34. Wizards Cast Long Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful when snooping around the temple of Woedica, right?

“Lenneth!” At the near-whispered admonition that was her name, Lenneth looked up to see Aloth frowning in disapproval toward the scroll in her hand, half-opened. A laugh and an excuse lay ready on her tongue -- or should have; instead, a pang of doubt struck her at his look, and she quickly sealed the thing back in its case.

“I was just curious,” she explained nonetheless, summoning a smile. Across the chamber, Itzli voices quietly read off the labels on scrolls filed in the years just before Violet’s birth, looking for the one that had dictated her life for so long. Edér kept close to the Watcher, but Lenneth’s curiosity had taken her off into an alcove, out of sight. It seemed Aloth was keeping an eye on her, though. Just when she’d thought he was starting to trust her, too.

“Violet promised not to disturb anything here but her own contract,” he reminded her, looking insufferably prim.

“Well, Violet swore that oath; I didn’t. Besides, Violet knows what she’s looking for here better than I do, so I’m no use in that search, and Glynis has gone quiet again. Maybe if I inspect some scrolls at random, I’ll remember more.”

His retort was dry in tone, yet the corners of his mouth hinted at a smile. “You think Glynis’ memories will include the year --” he leaned in to read the label on the case she had just relinquished -- “2772? Unless I miss my mark, Lenneth, in that year, Glynis was already _you._ ” His eyes as he turned back to her were a little uncertain -- of his guess, or of whether he had overstepped in making it?

She grinned, tilting her chin to him and looking up through her eyelashes. This was certainly more interesting than dusty old scrolls. “How old do you think I am, then?”

And then he looked like he was certain he _had_ overstepped. Flushed to the tips of his ears and tapping a finger along the ends of a row of scroll cases, he did not look at her as he brushed past her question and said, “At any rate, even if you _weren’t_ born by then, your soul would remember nothing from that year relevant to the Haven. These scrolls aren’t what we’re after.” His hand stilled on a shelf as he looked back at her suddenly. “I thought you had seen something, though. During the trial.”

She hesitated as the details of that particular memory came to mind again. “Bits and pieces,” she murmured, walking quietly along the row of shelves again, absent-mindedly waiting for anything interesting on them to catch her eye.

Only a moment passed before she heard Aloth’s quiet step following. “Relevant bits and pieces?”

She nodded. Pausing and picking up a case at random, turning it over in her hands as she looked at the label without reading it, she summarized in a near whisper. “I remembered a trial back then that involved the Haven. Someone was misusing it.” She frowned as she recalled the accusations against Mayor Illotan. “If he really did the things they convicted him of, it can do a _lot_ more than shield a city, Aloth.”

She glanced up at him just in time to see his eyebrow quirk. “Things that...might put the city at risk, I presume?”

“Maybe. Or, in this case, it seems to have just put that guy’s political enemies at risk. He was --”

She broke off at a sudden sense of warning, of threat. Aloth opened his mouth; she put her finger to his lips before he could speak. And she listened. Just as Aloth’s eyes started to go crossed in the direction of her finger, she heard it again -- the sound that had warned her before. A shifting of boot-leather over the stone of the temple floor. Aloth heard it too, she guessed from the widening of his eyes. Itzli voices still drifted quietly from the far end of the room, but the footstep had come from the other side of the shelves behind her. Lenneth was sure now they no longer had the place to themselves.

So she did the obvious thing. With a grin and a wink that made Aloth’s eyes widen further, she turned to continue her walk along the shelves, keeping one eye and ear trained for more signs of company behind that particular row, even as she resumed her tale -- or another part of it, anyway. The most important details of the Haven’s capabillities could wait till the group was securely gathered around the Itzlis’ dinner table once more.

“The best part,” she prattled brightly, “was _who_ was there with Glynis.”

It took Aloth a moment to catch on, but this time he stepped up to walk beside her. “Someone...new?” he prompted with a glance from her toward the shelves.

“Just barely; I saw him the other day at the temple of Abydon.”

He recalled silently for a moment. Then his eyebrows raised as he turned toward her. “The...mason?” He left out what _kind_ of mason, she noted. And was she just imagining the whisper of fabric brushing past the shelves on the other side? Was there still someone there, leaning in to catch the elves’ every word? She hoped they were up for a bit of gossip, then, because that near-kiss interrupted by the fading of the vision was still on her mind.

Lenneth grinned again. “I _thought_ I sensed...or...well, felt, really, a bit of sparks that day she met him. Took them long enough, though; at least four years, from what I heard. I thought orlans were usually quicker about this sort of thing, what with the lifespans and all.”

“I don’t think you can generalize like that,” he chided, “considering our _other_ reason for visiting this...collection. Violet’s been dealing with that betrothal a long time, after all.” He frowned. “That is...assuming you’re implying that Glynis was romantically involved with this mason?”

“He proposed after the trial!” She beamed, excited to finally divulge that particular moment of Glynis’ memories.

Aloth stared at her, just a bit aghast, and then gave a slight chuckle. “Well, that’s...bold timing. She accepted?”

“I didn’t see, but I think it was heading that way,” she sighed. “And I think, from the things they said, it was his baby. You remember the baby? From Hylea’s --”

“Oh, I remember,” he hastened to confirm, flushed to his ears once more.

He looked as if he would ask more about Glynis and her lover, and Lenneth would gladly have gossiped over every detail of those memories she could draw forth, but just then they reached the end of the shelf and exchanged a look of caution. She nodded then, and walked round the row’s end, into the next aisle.

There were no more shelves on that side. There was only a wall, decorated with Woedican frescoes, and an arched doorway through which a figure -- a savannah folk woman -- was just vanishing. But not quickly enough. Lenneth caught at Aloth’s arm and at her breath, and then whispered, “The one that got away!”

“What?” He paused midstep from hurrying after their quarry.

“I’ve seen her before,” Lenneth explained. “The day the Haven launched, when we were fighting them off in the Tlacu marketplace. She was one of the wizards that started it. The one Anselm was trying to take alive for questioning.”

“But his stasis spell failed with the Haven’s launch,” Aloth recalled, eybrows lifting as he made the connection.

“Go get the others,” Lenneth said, nudging him back the way they had come.

“What about you?”

“I can keep to the shadows,” she grinned. “I’m going after her. She won’t get away again.”

“But --”

“Hurry!” she hissed, already hurrying through the archway herself without waiting to see whether he cooperated.

It was dark in this corridor, growing darker as she moved farther from the shelves with their contracts, and that suited Lenneth fine. The walls were bare of decoration; nothing to dampen the sound of the wizard woman’s fleeing footsteps. Except she didn’t seem to be fleeing all that urgently. Lenneth had seen her leaving the scrolls room, but could they be lucky enough that she hadn’t spotted them following?

She came to an intersection, one corridor as dark and plain as the other. She listened: the wizard’s steady steps veered down the right hand path, it seemed. Easy enough for Lenneth to follow her, but she’d be a fool to forget the backup Aloth had (hopefully; and presumably, since he wasn’t still following her at this moment) gone to summon. It might only be a few minutes till they caught up to her, but she couldn’t have them missing a turn. Lenneth reached for a packet, tucked into her belt pouch, of tzopi she was saving for later, hefted one gooey sweet in a moment’s regret, then sighed and planted the thing square in the middle of the intersection. And planted a second one just a few feet away, down the right hand corridor. Then, crouching near the wall, she proceeded silently after her prey.

It was a long walk. There were several times she had to stop suddenly lest she catch up too quickly and alert the wizard to her presence. There were branching intersections (farewell to more tzopi) and corridors curving at angles and inclines that would make it difficult to keep one’s bearings or even say for certain whether you were still beneath Woedica’s temple or halfway across the city. There were vaulted chambers bubbling up along the corridor every so often, obliging Lenneth to stop outside such rooms and carefully peek around the corner of their doorways to be sure her quarry wasn’t waiting there to greet her with a fireball. There were moments when she thought she had taken too long in such cautions and lost the trail, but every time, as she stood considering the branches of an intersection or the doors leading out of those dim-lit rooms, faint footsteps called to her once again, and she planted her trail of tzopi and crept onwards.

The hunt ended, finally, as she peeked around a corner into what appeared to be a dead end. A small shrine to Woedica occupied the center of a round, lantern-lit chamber. The wizard-who-got-away stood near the shrine, talking to an elf with dark hair and a haughty stance. Lenneth didn’t recognize her quarry’s contact, but she smiled to see a lack of other exits in the room. That wizard wouldn’t get away this time. Not if backup followed the tzopi trail quickly enough, anyway. As for the new guy, he --

Well, now he was heading Lenneth’s way, as the conversation -- whispered too low for her to eavesdrop, alas -- wrapped up and the wizard knelt at the shrine while the elf turned away, pulling a hood up to shroud his face and moving quickly toward the exit. For a split second, Lenneth debated drawing her blades and trying to take out the pair of them, but it’d be a shame (and very anti-climactic) just to kill that wizard without a chance to question her, and Lenneth was scrappy but it was asking a bit much for her alone to subdue a _wizard_ while also dealing with whatever tricks the new guy might know. So she backed down the corridor, swift and silent, and crouched in an alcove behind the first statue of Woedica she found, hoping the elf wouldn’t look past the goddess’ stern scowl as he strode by. Hoping also he wouldn’t delay her friends catching up to help her catch this wizard…

He must have been more soft-footed than his wizard friend, quieter even than Lenneth herself, for she waited and waited without hearing him pass. When she finally did hear footsteps, it was a group of them, more swift than subtle. She peeked out from behind her statue and wasn’t surprised to see her friends approaching.

With a glance back toward the dead-end shrine and still no sign of the wizard’s elf friend, Lenneth jumped out of her hiding place, signaling for silence as Violet and the rest halted, hands halfway to weapons before they recognized her. Quickly and quietly, Lenneth brought them up to speed. “She’s in there -- the wizard that got away in Tlacu, the one we were going to question -- and that’s the only exit.”

Violet nodded. “A second chance at capturing her, then. That’ll be trickier without Anselm’s stasis spell, but perhaps one of us can stun her or…”

Aloth hefted his grimoire, briefly thumbing through the pages. “I do have Gaze of the Adragan prepared today,” he offered.

“That would do it,” Violet smirked. “If we lead with that, perhaps we can carry her off somewhere safe before she comes to. The Watch offices are just across the street. I’m sure Anselm will want to help question her.”

With that, they got into position, creeping closer to the end of the hallway. When the Leaden Key wizard came into view, quietly pacing near Woedica’s shrine, the others pressed against the corridor walls, making room for Aloth to step forward as he quickly began invoking the spell from his grimoire. As the incantation echoed in the chamber, their adversary looked up, whipped out a grimoire of her own, and began her own invocation. An arrow from Xipil’s bow knocked the grimoire from her hands, halting her progress, while the rest of Violet’s group rushed in, ready to distract her further. But no need: by the time Lenneth and Edér reached the shrine, their weapons fell not on flesh but on cold stone as Aloth’s spell took effect, petrifying her for a time.

“It won’t last long,” he reminded them as they gathered around the new statue.

“We’ll have her outta here in two shakes of a pig’s tail,” Edér said, sheathing his sabre and grabbing the statue’s shoulders. Before the alleged pig could have carried out its first tail-shake, the others picked up her legs and fell in along the stone torso, swiftly moving toward the exit with their petrified prisoner. But halfway there, Lenneth’s feet slid out from beneath her in a patch of oil that she was sure hadn’t been there before. She was flailing, unable to keep her balance without dropping the statue. Around her, the others were in the same predicament, and before that pig could have shaken its tail the second time, one by one they hit the ground. The petrified wizard landed right on top of Violet and her brother, if Lenneth recognized the yelping voices. Somewhere to the side, Yaotl yipped in distress at his master’s predicament. Lenneth squirmed around to shove at the statue and help free them, distantly wondering where the oil had come from. A spell? Had the wizard lady managed to cast this one thing before Aloth turned her to stone? Or maybe one of the lanterns had sprung a leak, or…

No time to figure it out. Before they finished scrambling to their feet, the patch of oil they were struggling through suddenly caught fire, abruptly casting the little chamber in painfully brilliant light and shadows that Lenneth had no time to admire while swatting at the parts of herself that had been caught in the flames. “Why is it always fire,” she grumbled through gritted teeth, as the pains of freshly seared skin overwrote the lingering stiffness of the scars from all those fire spells she’d been subjected to in the Tlacu marketplace fight.

“Vi!” Edér was shouting, and Lenneth’s attention was drawn from the fire licking at her ankles to see the big man shoving at the statue still pinning down the Watcher and her brother. She maneuvered as best she could over the still slick and now fiery stone of the floor to help pull the Itzlis free while he lifted the statue. Halfway through this process, the flames went out, almost as suddenly as they had kindled, replaced with a bitter cold and a swirling haze that made this mess even harder to see in the lantern light that remained. Lenneth glanced up and caught a glimpse of Aloth, his expression grim as he distanced himself from the formerly burning oil slick, just finishing an incantation -- this frost cooling them off must have been a spell of his, then. Better than the flames, but if the rest of them didn’t also distance themselves from the oil patch they’d soon be dealing with frostbite instead.

Through the icy fog, just over Aloth’s shoulder, she caught a glimpse of someone else. Too tall for an Itzli, and Edér was still at her side dragging Violet to safety. Lenneth’s eyes widened as she shouted a warning to Aloth, just before the sword behind him swept down. She saw him dodge just in time, Iselmyr taking over his reactions as he reached for his rapier. And then Lenneth, pulling Xipil to his feet as they all stumbled to the edge of the oil patch, was out of the fog and into trouble of her own as a crossbow bolt caught her in the shoulder.

For a moment it took all her focus to fight past that sudden pain and shock. Then her dagger was in her other, uninjured hand, just in time to stab at a swordsman going after Violet, who seemed to be half-dazed as she attempted to invoke a spell, huddled against a wall, where Edér had planted her after pulling her free of the wizard-statue that had pinned her down. Then he’d planted himself not far away, doggedly fending off the growing crowd of attackers with a fierce scowl and sabre shining in the lantern light. From Violet’s grimace and from the way she was leaning on her hip, keeping weight off her right leg, Lenneth guessed the statue had landed all wrong and maybe broken something. Crouching there, she must have looked an easy mark to this fool who’d slipped through Edér’s front line -- and with the words of a healing prayer on her tongue, a critical mark for her foes to neutralize. Intent on the priest, he never saw Lenneth coming. At least, she thought as her dagger came free of its target and he gurgled and crumpled to the ground, _that_ was one less threat for the Watcher to worry about.

Threats were multiplying like guards after a heist gone wrong, though. Edér’s face reddened with exertion as more and more got past him. Lenneth had her pick of targets, but with that bolt in her shoulder limiting her to fight with one dagger, not to mention the jolting pain accompanying every step, and of course the choice of hazarding the zone of slippery oil and frosty fog near the middle of the room or taking the long way around to intercept a threat on the other side, it was taking longer than it should to deal with these attackers. Long enough to wonder where they were all coming from. Aloth had petrified that wizard so quickly, it shouldn’t have drawn attention from anyone hidden further back in the tunnels, in corners Lenneth must have overlooked on her way back to this shrine. _Burn as a brand bright in the face of our foes,_ a thought bubbled up from the depths of her soul -- no, a prayer, she realized, and wondered when Glynis had been obliged to invoke the gods in battle like that. A mystery for later: for now, Lenneth would gladly take any help they could get, so she leaned into the prayer with words all her own: _no, really, enough of them burning us; isn’t it their turn to feel the fire of your wrath? Um...whoever it is I was talking to,_ she added with a touch of unaccustomed politeness and honesty. Another mystery for later, especially if Glynis’ gods deigned to listen to her soul now.

In the maelstrom of clashing blades and feet skittering around the chamber and voices raised in defiance, a gasping shriek suddenly clamored for attention, a voice familiar but unexpected. Lenneth twisted to find the sound and looked toward the chill fog still swirling between the shrine and the entrance. “Oh, isn’t that just perfect,” she groused: the time had run out, it seemed, on the spell that started this whole mess. A statue no more, her nemesis, the wizard of Tlacu, was struggling to find her footing between the oil and frost, already opening her grimoire. Across the fog patch, Lenneth caught the eye of Audie, crouched with both her knives out. The last thing this fight needed was more spells against their side, and both the rogues knew it. The wizard had planted her feet there in the middle of the fog, suffering the cold long enough to flip through her grimoire in search of a spell to turn the tide rather than trying to escape the frost first. Well, two -- three, as Audie nodded back to Lenneth’s grin and cocked chin -- could play that game. They arrowed straight towards the wizard, as directly as they could once their feet hit the oil. Belatedly, the woman switched spells, throwing up a shield of essence about herself -- a mini Haven -- just as their knives came for her. It slowed things down. It turned the arrows Xipil was now sending into the fog to assist them. But it only delayed the wizard’s doom. Audie’s blades made it through her defenses first, but Lenneth conceded the point with relief -- and a fleeting regret that they had failed again to hold that one for questioning -- as the wizard crumpled, still as stone once more, and another blast of cold stabbed at the rogues.

As they carefully picked their way back out of the slickened, frosted patch, something else turned Xipil’s arrows. Lenneth felt one bite into her thigh while she was still only halfway out of the cold zone. She stumbled; her cry was cut short when she looked around, expecting to see that archers had joined their foes, and found that the archer was Violet’s gentle brother. Nearby, Yaotl paused in tearing out the throat of an enemy swordsman and looked back at his master with a whine. She’d never seen Xipil so angry as the expression on his face now, twisted and nearly unrecognizable with hate. She doubted anyone ever had -- but there was something odd about his eyes, staring not at her as his target but somehow unfocused. Dazed. The reason struck her, even as she dodged another arrow and then he stiffly turned to fire at his sister, as Audie at least made it out of the frost -- “Just what we need,” Lenneth gasped. “They’ve got a cipher.”

Then at last, between the darts making a pincushion of her and the frost constantly biting at her and the slippery floor and the burns she’d sustained when the fight first broke out, it was all too much, all at once. The edge of the fog, just steps away, proved too far for the strength she had left. The last thing she knew, as the chill fog yielded to the black fog of oblivion, was that it’d be all her fault if the first people to trust her as a friend -- really trust her, when she was really in earnest and not lying to them in the slightest -- all died in this trap she’d rashly led them into.


	35. Whither the Watcher?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Violet and company are fighting for their lives, ambushed beneath Woedica's temple...Anselm and Lottie are looking for them to share what they discovered in the ixtapaluca.

Seldom had Anselm seen the Itzli house this empty. Lottie hollered for Violet, for Audie, for Xipil from the moment she walked through the door, but there was no response. Anselm’s sense of their soul signatures was faint, though: hours old. “They must have all gone out,” he guessed, following Lottie from room to room as she came to the same conclusion by more mundane means.

Their search ended in the quiet of Izél Itzli’s sickroom, a silence whose weight brought even Lottie’s voice to a whisper. “Papa?” she asked as the two of them slipped in. Chimalli and his youngest son sat near the door, quietly going over figures on a slate while Izél lay still on the bed. Father and son glanced up at Lottie’s whisper. She opened her mouth -- ready with questions about everyone’s whereabouts, or eager to report on what they had just found in the ixtapaluca, Anselm expected; even without trying now to read her mind, their frequent games with his skill had left him with a familiarity around her surface thoughts -- but then she hesitated, her stance just inside the doorway shifting along with her line of thought. Her eyes drifted toward Izél, so still beneath the blankets. “Is Mama…?”

Chimalli glanced at Yaretzi before he answered, “Sleeping soundly, for now. Patli was just here with her draught, so she’ll be able to rest.” He sighed, adding in an even quieter whisper, “Every day her waking hours are fewer, but at least in sleep she is suffering less. It seems we can hope for little more than to make her as comfortable as she can be so long as she still tarries with us.”

Lottie shifted again, still watching her mother, biting at her lip rather than saying more. Anselm noticed and some instinct made him reach for her, fingers brushing her wrist, for whatever his comfort was worth. 

Chimalli noticed, too, for he prompted, “You have news, Yolotli?”

She summoned a smile at half-strength. “Oh, Papa, you wouldn’t believe what we found!”

“In the archives?” Behind his glasses a bushy eyebrow raised, inviting her to continue.

“Oh, no. Well, yes, the map there helped,” her ears twitched with pride for the clue she’d found, “but nothing I’ve read in the archives yet came close to describing what’s been right under our noses for years.” Her smile returned to its full brilliance as she teased her father, “Well, right under  _ yours _ , in fact! Except that it’s at the top of a tower, of course. But you’ve been working that close to it every day and we never knew!”

Chimalli adjusted his glasses. “Never knew what, exactly? Perhaps you should start from the beginning, Lottie.”

So she did so, while her father and brother listened with eyes growing wider at each turn and Anselm leaned, arms crossed, against the wall across from them all, occasionally adding a detail to the story when Lottie’s recollection went too fast for her telling and she skipped ahead too far.

As she finished detailing the wondrous machine of adra and copper they’d seen behind secret doors that opened so readily to Lottie’s touch, Chimalli asked, “The northwest tower, you say?”

She nodded. “Do you know anything about it? They’re just using it for storage now, even though the outer door was kept locked. But it looks older than most of the palace, and the map from the archives showed it as a single, lone tower. If we knew when and why it had been incorporated into the rest of the ixtapaluca…”

“If we knew who had lived there before it belonged to the tlatoani, you mean,” Anselm grinned.

“It’s a very long time ago,” Lottie appealed to her father, “but perhaps, working there, you’ve heard something?”

Chimalli sat in quiet thought for a moment while Yaretzi fidgeted, alternately doodling on his slate and glancing between the gathered adults. At last, with a slow shake of his head, Chimalli said, “To the best of my knowledge, it was just one tower among many. It’s far from the audience rooms and council chambers where government business goes on. Whoever made the place, with those doors so well hidden -- right, as you say, under our noses -- might have taken care also to conceal its purpose when it became part of the ixtapaluca.”

Lottie showed him the parchment scrap she had found in the tower. “We found this in the living quarters. Engwithan writing -- that bit there spells Glynis’ name.”

“Though the machine in the tower itself seems enough to connect her to the place,” Anselm added.

Lottie frowned and nodded, staring at the parchment. “We need Violet to translate the rest of this.”

“And to operate the machine,” Anselm reminded her, grinning at her priorities.

She grinned back as she looked up at him. “Right, of course.” To her father she said, “They’ve all gone out, I take it?”

Chimalli nodded. “To the temple of Woedica, with Lenneth. They’ve not been gone long, so I expect it will be some hours before they finish there.” He added, with a glance to his sleeping wife, “If you’d like to wait for them here and look after your mother and brother, I could go up to the ixtapaluca and look into the tower’s history for you. Most likely there are records of its acquisition somewhere.”

Anselm and Lottie exchanged a look. He was sure the urgency in her eyes was reflected in his. To have the controls of the Haven within their grasp, and then have to wait at home for hours while Lenneth was pursuing mere memories? “Perhaps we’d best go after Violet first,” he said. “The tower’s history will be worth looking into after we have her look at the machine itself.”

“Well, then,” Chimalli said, “Ginella will be home sooner than the rest of them, I expect; she’s just gone to market this morning. She can take charge here when she returns, and I shall meet the rest of you at this tower.”

“Perfect!” Lottie beamed. “Thank you, Papa.” She began to turn to the door, then remembered herself and turned back to kiss her father’s cheek, ruffle her brother’s hair, and much more gently kiss her mother’s forehead, not disturbing her sleep in the slightest, before she and Anselm hurried quietly out of the house and back to the temple district.

* * *

Violet’s soul signature in the temple of Woedica was faint, but fresher than Anselm had sensed in the Itzli home; she’d been here, certainly. Rather than reuniting with their foremost expert on all things Engwithan, though, it was the Itzlis’ brother-in-law Otzan that they first encountered as Anselm followed his sense of Violet’s soul in the direction he hoped she’d gone.

“Well! Isn’t that a coincidence!” said the little clerk, picking up an armful of scrolls he’d dropped when the sight of Lottie and Anselm at an intersection in the temple’s lower floors had apparently taken him quite by surprise. “I’ll admit, I did think it rather inappropriate that she was here without you on such an errand, but Violet insisted you were occupied with an investigation.”

“So we were,” Anselm confirmed, the result of that investigation still tugging at him with growing urgency the longer it took to act on what they’d found. “Violet  _ has _ been here, then?”

“Why, yes.” Otzan seemed to be having trouble meeting either of their eyes, only sneaking a glance before looking back to his scrolls as if to be sure they were all in order. “She was speaking of annulling your betrothal? Honestly, I’m surprised you’d let one like her get away, if I may say so. Or perhaps you’re here to remand that directive?”

Anselm tried not to show his amusement at the clerk’s sudden hopeful look. What business of Otzan Nochehuatl’s was his sister-in-law’s betrothal, really? Was  _ everyone _ even marginally connected to the Itzli and Coatl clans so determined to see this match go through? “No, no,” he insisted. “I just need to speak to her. Official business.”

“Oh!” Otzan’s eyes widened and his ears flopped low. “She’s not in trouble with the Watch, is she? Oh dear, I should never have left them alone in the records…”

“The records, is it?” Anselm grinned. “Thank you, Otzan. If you could perhaps point us in that direction? And no, Violet’s not in trouble. I need her assistance. In an investigation. The sooner, the better.”

* * *

The hall of records to which Otzan directed them, returning with obvious relief to the ordinary business of his day as soon as they were on their way, was full of Itzli soul signatures but empty of the kith that housed those souls. Following his sense of Violet’s soul was easier, though, here where the trail was freshest, and in a short time they had found the tunnels behind the rows of shelves and scroll cases. Soon after that they found the first of Lenneth’s trail of tzopi. Soon after that, it was not a soul signature they were following, but the sounds of battle, echoing with strange distortion through the tunnels and growing louder even as Anselm and Lottie ran faster. 

Lottie, running at his side, was reciting a battle chant already, the words coming quicker and quicker as they neared the fray. Quicker too fell their footsteps, as something in her words lent speed and energy. Anselm drew his sword as they came close enough to see lights -- of lantern and of magic -- glowing through the doorway at the end of the dark hall.

“Violet’s in distress,” he told Lottie quickly, slowing to assess the situation as best he could before they joined the fray, reading the emotions lighting up familiar soul signatures as brightly to his eyes as the visible lights. “Audie’s angry -- Xipil is --” he frowned. “Not himself, I think. Keep your wards up, Lottie; there’s another cipher at work in there.”

Dismay at this report showed in her face as he met her eyes, but she barely paused in her chanting. She gripped her staff with determination and nodded, even flashed him a smile before the two of them slipped unnoticed into the room where their friends and family stood their ground, barely, against at least half a dozen foes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah...I know...it's another cliffhanger. ;-) But now they have a cipher and a chanter to save the day! Right?


	36. Turned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gang's all back together! Lottie is having an exciting day, from thrilling discoveries to exhilarating battles; Violet a much more frustrating day, being a healer who can't heal herself right now enough to heal her friends; but there is nothing they can't solve when the whole Citlatl crew is together, surely.

_ Wards up, Lottie. _ This was different than keeping her mind from being read, as she’d practiced so many times with Anselm. Across a slowly fading patch of fog, glittering with ice crystals in the lantern light, she saw her twin brother locked blade for blade with Audie, his bow forgotten on the ground nearby, Yaotl nipping at the hem of his tunic.

Xipil was nowhere near Audie’s match with knives, Lottie reminded herself. He wouldn’t even attempt such a duel if he knew better. If he was still alive it was because Audie knew he wasn’t himself, and she wasn’t trying to hurt him, just keep him from doing any worse than whatever he might already have done -- of course, that was tying the both of them up in this duel when they could be helping protect the others from their true foes. When they were all done here, she’d have to start passing on to her twin what she’d been learning from Anselm about wards.

In the meantime, they couldn’t afford to have anyone else on their side turned by whatever cipher or fampyr or -- maybe it was vithrack? -- whoever had charmed Xipil, it would be terrible if they got to someone else too. She shifted into a new chant:  _ They Shielded Their Eyes ’Gainst the Fampyr’s Gaze _ ; that would remind everyone to keep their heads about them. 

She heard cries of recognition from Violet and Audie as her voice wove into the sounds of combat, and Lottie grinned. Still chanting words to encourage her comrades, to restore the strength this fight had clearly taken out of them, to distract the foe, to -- oh! Even to set the edge of her comrades’ weapons on  _ fire _ as they pressed back against their foes, that was one she hardly ever got to use, and it was glorious to see in this dimly lit chamber! -- Lottie swung her staff against a dwarf with a dreadful looking mace who’d been distracted enough to come and try to put an end to her singing by force. They traded blows long enough for Lottie to start getting worried. With the strength of her chants building up throughout the fight till she felt the spirits pressing in for her bidding, she threw in a refrain from  _ At the Sound of His Voice, the Killers Froze Stiff, _ and in front of her not only the nasty dwarf but a folk man with a sword not far behind him, who’d been about to join Xipil’s fight against Audie, froze stiff, just like in the song, paralyzed for a moment as the spirits brought her words to life, so Lottie could deal with other things.

The first other thing she needed to deal with was the crumpled pile of elf she’d caught sight of at the edge of the frosty fog that was just dissipating. Chanting again, fast and furious to build up the listening spirits to the point where they could again do what she would ask of them, she ran over to Lenneth. Lottie winced at the sight of the arrow shafts and crossbow bolts bristling from the elf. If any of them were Xipil’s -- well, she tried not to think down that path too far. Instead, she chanted verses of protection, of defenses, of courage, and finally crouched near Lenneth and poured it all into the aria of  _ Rise Again, Rise Again, Scions of Adon, _ willing the spirits to come to her friend’s aid. With a faint gleam of the essence converging upon her limp form, Lenneth finally drew a sharp breath and opened her eyes. Lottie beamed with delight. Lenneth blinked twice before she smiled back. Then she winced -- still full of arrows, after all. For that, Lottie had no song to help, but the lingering effects of her chants brought color to Lenneth’s face as Lottie helped her to her feet.

“Tell me you’re not a dream,” Lenneth groaned as Lottie tugged her toward the wall, where she’d last seen Violet.  _ Violet’s in distress, _ Anselm had sensed, and that was the next other thing she needed to deal with. “Some new disguise of Berath’s, is that it? I was kind of expecting the Usher.”

Lottie giggled. Answering in the kind of detail a proper explanation required would mean dropping her chant too long, and she saw at that moment a stranger in dark robes swinging an axe toward Aloth, where he stood across the room watching Lenneth’s revival with obvious relief. So she just shook her head and gave her friend a gentle shove in his direction, timed to the rhythm of her chant. Lenneth caught on quickly for one who’d missed the last however many minutes of combat. By the time she’d hobbled over to the wizard’s defense, Anselm was there to aid as well; Lottie’s heart leapt to see the soul essence teeming to his sword as he swung at the stranger. That made it easy for Lenneth, even wounded as she was, to get in a good backstab. As the two of them finished the stranger off, leaving Aloth to resume whatever he’d been trying to cast, Lottie reached her big sister at the wall.

For this, she could break chant a moment. “What’s wrong, Violy?” she asked, picking up where Anselm’s senses had left off. They had a moment’s respite, it seemed; crouching next to Violet, she glanced around the chamber to see Edér keeping two swordsmen busy, Xipil flat on the floor -- her heart skipped a beat, but then she saw his chest rise and fall. Yaotl ranged nearby, defending him, and Audie had launched herself at someone in more of those dark robes. Anselm was still so terrorizing opponents twice his size that they never noticed Lenneth limping up behind them, and Aloth had found a spot against the far wall from which he seemed able to cast uninterrupted for a time.

“May’ve broken something,” Violet answered, with the clipped syllables of one biting back her pain. Aiming her crossbow at Audie’s target, she winced as she fired and then carefully ratcheted the bowstring back into place. “Thank you for helping Lenneth. I -- I couldn’t reach her. I can barely reach anyone from here, in fact, but I haven’t been able to move very far either.”

“You shouldn’t be moving at all, with a broken leg!” Lottie chided.

“What, then? Leave them all to die and wait my turn here?” Tears brimmed in the corners of her eyes; she blinked furiously, and then let out a slow, frustrated sigh. “We’re lucky you arrived when you did. Though I don’t know how you even found us, all the way back here.”

“Anselm,” Lottie grinned. “Remind me never to play hide and seek with him.” She looked around again and saw that the tide of battle was swiftly turning. At least two of their opponents were now attacking their own allies, dancing to Anselm’s puppet strings. Her own chants were wearing off in the time she’d sat talking to Violet, though. So she kissed her sister’s forehead and said, “Stay put. We’ll finish this quick and then take care of your leg, and then you can come see what we found!” Starting her chants again with one to boost Violet’s defenses, and then weaving in the one to ward off charms, in case the enemy cipher was still among the living, she hurried back into the fray, in range for her words to reach the rest of the group as well.

* * *

It was quiet once more in the dead end chamber. Bodies littered the floor. None of them, thank the gods, familiar; unless you counted that wizard who’d escaped the fight in Tlacu market, only to die here in her attempt at an ambush.

Which, to be fair, had been a Hel of an attempt, from what Anselm had gathered in the fight itself and, since it ended, in the comments of those who’d been here when it started. If he hadn’t been able to trace Violet’s soul, if they hadn’t been looking for her just then -- if they’d waited patiently at home while Chimalli went to the ixtapaluca -- Anselm shuddered at the thought and scowled all the darker at the aftermath of the fight.

“We’re taking the lot of you to the healers first,” he insisted, giving up on his investigation of the bodies and the creepy little shrine. Woedica’s defenders -- or whoever they were -- kept their secrets even in death, and there was little else he could do until those injured were stabilized. “The tower can wait a little longer.”

Lenneth perked up, leaning forward too quickly while Xipil was still working an arrowshaft -- one of his own, Anselm wondered? -- out of her shoulder. “ _ Ow, _ ” she winced, turning her head toward the pain, and then, at Xipil’s look of dismay, added, “No, it’s okay, keep going. Just -- what tower?” 

“We followed a lead of Lottie’s,” he explained, sharing a smile with his clever companion in the morning’s investigations, who looked about to burst with the excitement of their discoveries compounded by the adrenaline of the fight just concluded. Then he glanced around again at the fallen foes in that seemingly-dead-end chamber. It occurred to him, not for the first time since the last of those went down and the survivors had a moment to think, that he’d never conclusively identified any of those foes as the cipher who’d charmed Xipil earlier in the fight. There had been no sign of anyone whose weapons drew essence as his own did; no more of his allies had fallen under such a spell after Xipil, nor had he seen any other powers like his own in use. Perhaps that threat had already been neutralized by the time Anselm and Lottie entered the fray, leaving Xipil to suffer the duration of the charm but no one else at risk. Or perhaps that threat had simply bowed out when the tide of battle turned against them -- fleeing to fight another day, back to wherever all these attackers had come from. Which was probably not far. Anselm opted for discretion. “More than that, we shouldn’t discuss here. But you’ll see it soon enough. Patience, Lenneth.”

She pouted, but that expression didn’t last long before she was making faces against the pain again. She was being surprisingly stoic about the whole ordeal, for Lenneth, enduring in near silence, with minimal questions, the slow process of plucking out the several arrows and bolts that had caught her before help arrived. It helped, probably, that Violet was surrounding them all with healing prayers -- even while she patiently endured what treatment they could give her own injured leg. Audie was splinting it now with a pair of sheathed longswords reclaimed from dead foes, padded and bound with strips of those same foes’ robes and armor. Violet’s prayers could not suffice to instantly reforge the broken bone, if something was indeed broken, but they had helped to reduce her ankle’s swelling and stop Lenneth from bleeding out, as well as soothe the burns that all of them had taken earlier in the fight. Edér and Aloth had nearly finished assembling a stretcher from more of those plentiful robes, tied between Lottie’s staff and a pike that one of the enemies had wielded. Whoever ended up carrying the business end of the pike side of the stretcher (Edér, he predicted, who’d been all set to bridal-carry Violet all the way home, had not Audie argued that a stretcher would be less jarring to her leg until the healers at the temple could treat it if it really was broken) would have to take care not to grip it by the sharp edges. Lottie was speedily whip-stitching the robes to the poles, putting that adrenaline to good use. Before long, they’d be ready to leave this place behind. The sooner, the better.

“Violet,” Anselm said after some hesitation and a sidelong glance at Audie, “have you -- is there any chance of learning something from their souls?”

Violet, too, glanced at Audie before saying, “I haven’t tried yet, but...perhaps when you’re finished with that, Audie…”

“Violet!” Audie chided, looking all set to break Violet’s  _ other _ leg if she started spending her strength foolishly like that.

Anselm sighed. “No, Audie’s right. I rescind the suggestion.”

“If you’re wondering who they were,” Aloth offered, “the Leaden Key seems a safe assumption. We were trying to recapture  _ that _ one, after all.” He nodded to the folk woman wizard who had escaped them before in the Tlacu market. “And the rest of them certainly fit their profile.”

“Including their proximity to Woedica’s temple,” Anselm agreed. He stepped over to the once elusive wizard, bypassing a cluster of her fallen comrades, and bent for a closer look, focusing in on any clues in her soul signature slowly fading. “So, you were following this one and she led you into an ambush?”

“It was my fault.” Lenneth’s voice was small, flat, and she kept her eyes down. Xipil paused in bandaging the shoulder from which he’d removed the last arrow and gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. She glanced up and around the group, too quick for eye contact till she settled on Anselm to explain, “I was sure she was alone, against the six of us, and we had the only exit covered. We had a good plan, too! I don’t know where they all came from, or where that oil slick came from after Aloth had already petrified her.”

“There was an oil slick?” Lottie asked, wide-eyed. The six who had been here for the start of the fight all at once turned to look at a patch of the tiled floor not far from the entrance, where there had been no oil but fading shreds of fog when Anselm and Lottie arrived. Where there was now only a bit of condensation and abundant scorching, marking out a rough circle.

“I know a spell that slickens the ground like that,” Aloth suggested. “I’m almost certain, though, that  _ she _ didn’t have time to cast it before I finished mine.”

“So it was an ambush, after all,” Violet mused. “She was bait, and someone out of sight must have cast the oil slick. Lenneth, you said she had been meeting with a man when you caught up to her?”

“Ye-es,” Lenneth said, paling. “He was leaving, so I hid. I thought he just passed me quietly, but…”

“Would you recognize him?” Anselm asked, narrowing his eyes at the corpses.

Lenneth caught his meaning. She frowned in thought. “Yeah. I think so. I watched a while before he turned to leave. Mostly saw him in profile and from the back, but enough to pick him out of the lineup on the floor here, if that’s what you mean.” Her grin returned for a moment as she added, “He was a dark-haired elf. Kind of looked like Aloth, only nowhere near as cute.”

Thus they had Aloth’s sputtering and blushing avoidance of eyes for entertainment as Lenneth, now purged of projectiles and swathed in bandages, got to her feet with Xipil’s aid and made the rounds of the bodies, briefly inspecting each one as her comrades took turns turning over the ones that had fallen face-down.

In the end, she shook her head. “Definitely not dead. Or if he is, I guess he’s dead somewhere else. Maybe he snuck past me after all.”

“Or maybe not  _ past _ you,” Anselm said, peering closely at the carved panels of stone forming the chamber’s walls. “Audie,” he finally called, “maybe you could take a look? I suspect the door we came in isn’t the only way out of this room, but if there’s another, it’s well hidden, and your eyes are the sharpest.”

Audie leaned back from her splinting work, turning her sharp eyes full on him. Anselm waited out her silent assessment of his intentions, until finally her chin rose in a nod. 

“That’d explain a lot,” she agreed.

While she was so closely inspecting the walls, Anselm took the opportunity to replace her at Violet’s side and murmur, “Your brother-in-law the clerk seemed quite scandalized at the thought of annulment.”

She laughed lightly, a smile lightening the tightly drawn muscles of her face. The sooner they got her to the temple healers, the better. “Wasn’t he, though?” she agreed. “With luck, maybe he’ll find some loophole in the contract to make this whole process easier for us.” Then she blanched, fur ruffling and ears flicking back. “Oh, sweet Eothas, that oil slick and the  _ fire… _ ” For a moment she rummaged frantically in a vest pocket that bore the scars of fire itself. The scroll case she finally withdrew was rather rumpled, thoroughly singed on one end, flattened and even splitting its seams a bit in places. Breathless, she opened it. The scroll that emerged was itself only a tiny bit singed, though still quite rumpled. She caught her breath in a relieved sigh. “Surely that’s still legible.”

“Is that our contract?” Anselm’s eyebrows rose as she handed it to him. And then rose further as he considered, “I wonder what would have happened if it had burnt all to ash. Would that nullify the arrangement for us?”

They sat frozen, alternating wide-eyed stares from each other to the contract. “I don’t think,” Violet finally said, “it works that way. Also, I’m fairly sure this is not the only copy. Just the one for Woedican records.”

“Alas,” Anselm smirked. “Calling a clan council is so much more complicated than arson.”

“Well, arson is much more complicated when there are multiple scroll copies,” she countered. “Anyway, we’ll leave this one with Otzan to decipher. Along with our apologies for the damage.”

His smirk grew. “He’ll probably faint at the sight of the scroll. Better not tell him about this room.”

Just then, across this room, a near-inaudible  _ click _ preceded a similarly quiet sound like shifting sand. They looked up to see Audie smiling like a stelgaer, holding back a panel of tapestry behind which a panel of stone was just swinging open.

“More hidden doors!” Lottie gasped, clasping her hands. 

“More?” Violet glanced at Anselm. 

“That can wait,” he said, getting to his feet and approaching the passageway now revealed. Beyond, another dark corridor, hardly distinguishable from those that had led them to this chamber. No sign of the missing dark-haired-but-inferior-in-cuteness elf, nor any other lurking foes.

He glanced back at Violet, craning her neck to see the new corridor. And at Lenneth, still pale from blood loss if not from guilt. “I think,” Anselm concluded, in that firm voice with which he would send the newest Watch recruits off on their assignments, “this can wait as well. Assuming we haven’t just killed every last Leaden Key agent in Citlatl, we are far from fresh for more combat, and we must presume they would have us at the advantage if we pressed on through here. Audie, seal that door again, if you can. Let’s get Violet on that stretcher, get that scroll to Otzan, and go tend to our wounded. Then, I believe, Lottie and I have a hidden door of our own to show you all.”


	37. Tallan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anselm and Lottie bring the rest of the team, patched up and rested after that fight under Woedica's temple, to see their discoveries in the ixtapaluca's ancient tower.

“Please tell me you can read that,” Lottie whispered, hovering at Violet’s shoulder as her sister peered up at the runes inscribed on the tower’s entrance. Lottie was itching to finally solve the mysteries of Zir Tallan, now that they’d all made it here in one piece. Mostly one piece. The temple healers had taken their time, especially with Violet, carefully setting her broken ankle, replacing Audie’s unconventional splints with a sturdy cast, and flooding the injury with healing magics to hasten her recovery. Lenneth’s bandages had been replaced with something more sanitary than the Leaden Key robes torn up to staunch the bleeding in the aftermath of the battle, though she had sworn that Xipil’s gentle efforts as her field surgeon had all but guaranteed her healing already, and then grinned like an artist stepping back to admire her oeuvre at Xipil’s sudden flush when the red-haired acolyte applying a salve to the hole in Lenneth’s shoulder had looked up at him with a thoughtful smile. Similar salves had soothed everyone’s burns, apart from Lottie and Anselm, who’d missed the worst of the fight. The priests had restored their spirits with a hearty lunch, as well, fresh from the temple kitchens, and then sent them on their way in the early afternoon.

Arriving back at the palace, while they waited in the atrium for the guard who had shown them around the tower earlier to be tracked down -- no sense in exposing the tower’s secrets to more of the staff, if it could be avoided -- they had crossed paths with Chimalli, on his way to look into the northwest tower’s history, as promised. Lottie tried to coax him to come and see the tower for himself first, but he chuckled and noted that he had best visit the palace’s records hall before its keeper went home for the day. As he headed off to his research, their escort appeared with his keyring and led them off to the tower.

Now, at Lottie’s whisper, Violet reached up to run a finger over the door’s inscription. The ixtapaluca guard, looking a little overwhelmed at the size of the group returning for a second look at the tower, made no move to stop her from touching the runes as Lottie had begun to on their first visit. Maybe he was recalling the secrets Lottie’s touch had uncovered inside the tower and waiting to see if Violet could pry similar marvels from these carvings.

Not in quite the same fashion: no hidden compartments slid open as she laid a hand to the runes, but Violet nodded at Lottie’s whisper. “This is the tower’s name, I think,” she said. “Teir Tallan.” Shifting on the crutch with which the temple healers had released her from their care, she leaned back and glanced from the door to Lottie. Edér, hovering at her other shoulder, half reached to steady her, but the healers had done their job well, and Violet’s balance held true.

“Teir Tallan,” Lottie echoed. Belated confirmation, after seeing the machine at the tower’s top, but she grinned in satisfaction all the same. “The old map called it Zir Tallan. _Teir_ is _tower_ in Engwithan?”

Violet nodded again. “More or less. Teir Evron, Teir Nowneth, Teir Tallan. I wonder who the _Tallan_ was -- at least, that part seems to be a personal name, not an Engwithan word I can translate,” she confirmed the rest of Lottie’s theory.

Further back in the group clustered at the door, Lenneth’s voice carried a note of urgency. “Tallan,” she repeated. “I...Glynis…”

“Did you see something?” Aloth prompted, watching her with concern creasing the corners of his eyes.

She nodded, then shook her head, wrapping her arms tight around herself as she stared at the door. “Nothing at the moment. But...what I saw earlier, at the trial, what I started to tell you about while they were looking for the contract…I’ve just realized...” She glanced around, lips thinning and eyes narrowing. “Maybe we should talk about this inside the tower, yeah?”

“That would be best,” Anselm agreed, looking back the way they had come, through the ixtapaluca’s public galleries. Lottie followed his gaze to see one of the housekeeping staff, up on a ladder to dust the decorative stonework around a high window. Anselm nodded to the guard, who fumbled with his keyring in his hurry to open the presumed storage tower to them once more.

“Violet,” asked Lottie, while the guard was thus occupied, “Is that all it says on the door? Teir Tallan?” She squinted at the rest of the runes, surely too long for just a name.

Violet shook her head slowly, her attention drawn from Lenneth back to the tower door’s inscription. Her gaze followed the line of the runes, but there was something unfocused about it at the same time, as when her Watcher sight followed a soul into the Beyond. Lottie fretted a little at the suspicion that, without such a second sight, she would never be able to read more than a word or two in these runes for herself. But before she could mourn that hidden knowledge overmuch, Violet emerged from her memories of the language with a translation. _“As one soul, o Divine, the city looks to You; let divine wisdom ever guide the hand that wields Your Shield in our skies.”_

The hush that followed these ancient words stretched over the group for a long moment, while they all stared at the runes as if they could read them as plainly as the Watcher.

“Well,” said Anselm at last. “That’s a manifesto for the Haven if ever I saw one.”

Audie snorted. “You’ve seen how many of those, exactly?”

His answering chuckle was wry. “One is more than enough,” he said. “May divine wisdom also guide the Watcher in _un_ -wielding this particular shield, however.”

The guard stood now staring at Violet in wonder, having found the key and unlocked the door while they were all focused on its inscription. As the group’s attention returned to him, he cleared his throat and pushed the door open, as silently as the first time they had visited.

Anselm turned to him as the others filed through into the first chamber. “We may be some time here. Can the door be locked from the inside?

The guard nodded. “Ay, sir, I believe so. Never had cause to try the key on that side, though. We usually only come in here to grab something from the storage.”

Anselm held the man’s gaze for a moment -- his own version of Violet’s Watcher-stare, Lottie realized: a look she’d come to recognize from the times she challenged him to read her mind, just to see if her wards were enough to stop him yet. Much more serious and tense the version of it the guard was getting now, though. Well, no wonder: he’d seen more of Citlatl’s mysteries, the first time he showed them around this tower, than anyone in the city outside of their little group of investigators must be aware of, and how could they be sure he wouldn’t go tell the wrong people, if they left him unattended down here?

“Lock the door from the inside, then,” Anselm finally ordered, and from the way the guard still stared at him, Lottie guessed there was more weight behind the command than anyone without his cipher powers could have managed -- though Anselm could be remarkably convincing by his personality alone, without any of that; she’d seen how skillfully he wielded the authority of his rank and clan and the certainty of his directives, even when he felt no need to bolster these with more arcane charms. Hopefully the compulsion he was setting on the guard now would last long enough for them to finish their business with the machine. “Wait for our return,” Anselm continued, “but let us know if you hear anyone outside attempting to interfere.”

Without a word, the guard turned to obey. He swung the ancient door closed as silently as it had opened, locked it, and stood alert there. Anselm paused a moment longer. When a look that Lottie guessed was doubt crossed his face, she stepped closer, linking her arm through his. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go hear what Lenni saw.”

The others stood just beyond the door, waiting. Lenneth glanced at the guard. “Lottie,” she said, flexing her fingers as if working out a cramp in her hands, “you said there was living space upstairs?”

Lottie nodded. “Hidden behind those secret doors, yes. It was amazing! How long those rooms must have been sealed up, forgotten, it’s remarkable that anything in them remains intact, but --”

“Can we talk up there?” Lenneth asked. “I think...I think I need to see that.”

Lottie tilted her head, regarding the elf, and then glanced back at the guard, who still stood alert at the door. Anselm’s charm wouldn’t stop him from hearing their talk down here. And it sounded like Lenneth’s latest vision was a good one. She nodded, smiled, let go of Anselm, and hurried to the stairs, looking over her shoulder to ask, “Someone has light spells, yes? Windows would have made the room less secret, I guess.”

“Er...yes,” Aloth volunteered, reaching for his grimoire. “That won’t be a problem.”

Lottie grinned and hurried up to the first panel she had discovered. Beaming, she waited until everyone gathered near so she could demonstrate how it opened -- and then stopped herself with her hand half way to the opening sigil, looking back at her sisters. “Violet,” she said as the thought struck her, “I wonder if you can open it, too?”

“Me?” Violet blinked, leaning on her crutch. “I thought you just needed me to work the machine itself.”

“Yes, well, I _can_ open the door,” Lottie explained, tugging at a braid, “but I’m wondering who else can do it. Audie? Maybe you could try?”

Audie eyed her suspiciously. Further down the stairs, Anselm offered, “I think I know what she’s getting at. It opened for me, but not as quickly as for Lottie. And not at all for the guard.”

Audie glanced back at him and then shrugged. “I’m game. How does it work?” Lottie showed her the sigil. Audie placed her hand there and, with the same quiet click Lottie recalled, the panel’s light flared and it swung swiftly aside.

The sitting room beyond was just as she remembered it, the dust of ages undisturbed except for her own footprints to the scroll case and back. “Aloth?” Lottie prompted, and the wizard quickly summoned lights like those he’d used days ago to test the Haven’s pull on essence. Here, the orbs glowed a warm blue as they drifted toward the ceiling of the hidden room, giving them all a much better view of the benches and tables with their faded tapestries and the cobwebs lining the baskets and vases that had sat untouched by kith for ages.

Lottie moved aside, standing by the open door panel while the others crowded into the room. Some looked dubiously at the furniture, as if considering whether the benches retained the stability to bear the weight of kith who might try to sit there. Others looked dubiously at the dust and webs. But Lenneth paced a slow circle around the room, along the outer wall, running a finger delicately over a tapestry, a vase, a faded mural on the wall. She came at last to stand near the center, hands clasped and a look of wonder in her eyes.

“I do remember this place,” she said, sounding relieved, almost giddy.

The rest of them exchanged glances. “Then it _is_ part of the Haven?” Violet asked.

“Far more than that,” Lenneth laughed. “I _lived_ here.” She glanced around again, frowning at some of the benches. “It’s not exactly as I remember it. But if Glynis was the first to live here, I suppose someone may have redecorated in later generations.”

They stood silent as her words sank in. Then Lottie remembered the parchment scraps she had found in this very room. “Violet!” she said, extracting them from her pocket and carefully sorting through the delicate pieces to find the one with the runes she had recognized. “You can read this. If Glynis lived in the tower, that would explain how this came to be in the scrollcase over there.” She held the scrap out for her sister’s confirmation.

Violet’s eyes widened when she got to the line with Glynis’ name. “You found that here?” she asked.

Lottie nodded. “It _is_ her name, right?”

“Lenneth,” Violet said, her voice slow with thought as she stared at the parchment, “perhaps you should have a look at this too.”

So the elf stepped forward to take the parchment. Scarcely had her fingers brushed the faded ink on its ancient surface when she stilled, with a gasp, and then took hold of that corner in her left hand. Her right hand moved to parallel it, grasping at the air while Lenneth’s eyes moved back and forth across the space between her hands.

Like she was reading something there, Lottie realized. Like she held not just the fragment but the whole parchment to which it had once been joined.

The moment passed quickly. Lenneth’s eyes moved faster than even Lottie could read as they turned more toward the memory of the thing she held than its remnant. Soon she blinked, taking half a step back as she looked at the scrap itself with a puzzled frown.

“Most certainly Glynis’ name,” Violet said, shifting on her crutch to pat comfortingly at Lenneth’s back. “From the context, it seems to be addressed to her?”

Lenneth looked at Violet with a slow nod.

“I couldn’t read much of it myself,” Violet went on, “but...more, actually, than I expected. More than what physically remains. I have a guess who sent it, but I think you got a more thorough glimpse?”

Again Lenneth nodded, and then the corner of her mouth quirked in a grin. “Ianthina. So, technically, _you._ ”

“Hey,” Edér said with an echoing grin, “nice to see you kept in touch, back then.”

“What was it about?” Audie asked, and Lottie seconded the question with eager nodding.

Lenneth looked at the scrap again, but without the thousand-year stare extending to the missing part of it. “Just...keeping in touch, really. Ordinary gossip between friends. Nothing about the Haven, so either Glynis kept that from her or this letter came before all that. News about other acolytes they both trained with. She sounded a little bit excited about some new task the Grandmaster set her on.” Lottie’s attention was on Lenneth, but in the corner of her eye she saw Violet wince ever so slightly at that part. “Asked how the temples were coming along out here, and whether Glynis had gotten so comfortable speaking Katl she’d forgotten the Engwithan necessary to write back to her friend.” She smiled at Violet. “Never, I hope.”

“I hope so, too,” said Violet. Her smile grew. “I’m sure Ianthina would have kept _your_ letters, too.” Lenneth grinned so wide her eyes near disappeared. “Though I doubt we’ll ever have a chance to read one of _those._ How fortunate that any of this one survived -- what a treasure in a tiny scrap of parchment! Thank you for that, Lottie.”

Lottie grinned just as wide, now, as Lenneth handed the scrap back to her. “So, we’ve established that Glynis lived here. But it must also be connected to the Haven -- wait till you all see the machine upstairs!”

“Oh, this is definitely the control tower,” Lenneth said without even seeing said machine, grinning, if it were possible, even wider. “Moving in was Ticatl’s idea.”

Lottie gasped. “The mason!” Ticatl’s name was the latest in the list of those Violet had written out for her to look for in the archives, since Lenneth had reported her vision of him to the group not long ago. None of the records as yet had mentioned him.

“Soulmason as well as stonemason,” Lenneth elaborated. “I’ve only seen a few glimpses of him in Glynis’ memories, but I think he was the one who designed the Haven. Maybe she helped? She was talking about praying for blueprints, anyway.”

Anselm snorted, smirking, his arms crossed as he listened. “A novel approach to a building project.”

“I guess it worked,” Lenneth spread her hands. “Or Ticatl figured it out. Either way, I’m sure Glynis helped somehow. It seemed like sort of her pet project, you know? And,” her eyes sparkled as her grin turned mischievous, “obviously she was spending a lot of time with him for _some_ reason. It was pretty clear in this vision that they ended up as lovers. Anyway, this morning, at the trial, I saw a memory of...well, another trial, one that Glynis witnessed. It was after the Haven was built. Seems they had a city council of sorts who were supposed to oversee its use. One of them -- the mayor back then -- had been misusing it though. So Ticatl and Glynis moved in here, to sort of guard the tower and make sure no one could mess with the Haven without the council’s approval.”

“Except, I presume, Ticatl and Glynis,” Anselm pointed out, eyebrow arched.

Lenneth made a face. “Well...I suppose so. I don’t know how that all worked out, or what they did with the _Haven_. Just that...she must have accepted his proposal,” she grinned, “because _someone_ definitely lived here, and kept Ianthina’s letter here. It fits.”

“It does,” Violet agreed. “I wonder when the tower stopped being someone’s home, then? If generations following Glynis lived here, as you thought…”

“Maybe it was when the tower was added to the ixtapaluca,” Lottie suggested. “Hopefully Papa can find out when that was.”

Lenneth was looking around again, biting at her lip. “Lottie,” she asked, “there’s another room, isn’t there? Besides the control room?”

Lottie tilted her head at her again. “Yes, there’s a bedroom upstairs. Glynis remembers it?”

“Something’s missing,” Lenneth said with a strange half-smile. “Can we look up there?”

So they filed out of the sitting room and up the stairs to the next secret panel. Lottie would have liked to have Violet test this one, or Xipil, or the elves or Edér, but expanding her data on the sigils’ responsiveness could wait, when she considered Lenneth’s memory of this room she had yet to see. So she opened the door herself. Aloth’s light-orbs followed her into the room, and once again she stood by the door panel while the rest of them filed in.

The light from Aloth’s spell revealed what had been concealed on the previous visit. The bed frame Lottie had first noticed that time was not the only one, nor was this level all one room, but partitioned into several smaller chambers by the remains of some sort of wooden walls or screens. Time had worn away at those inner walls till the bedrooms all mingled in one space again, but the boundaries were still discernible, at least waist-high in most places. “I wonder why the inner walls weren’t made of stone too,” Lottie mused. “An afterthought, perhaps?”

“I think so,” said Lenneth. “Living in the tower was sort of an afterthought in itself, after all.” She seemed lucid at the moment, not frozen in another memory, yet she moved as in a dream directly to one of the furthest bedroom spaces. The wooden walls there were yet high enough to hide her from their sight in the moment that the rest of them paused before following.

They caught up to find Lenneth hovering over one feature of the room that the years had not touched. Carved of stone like the tower itself, like the elegant scrollcase in the room below this one, was a cradle. Lenneth’s hand reached for it, hesitating, then gave it a slight push. As silent as the tower’s main door where the guard stood waiting for them, the cradle rocked gently, back, forth, and then with its next turn, a faint music emerged, a gentle metallic sound in time with the movements of the stone. The melody was none that Lottie had ever heard, in all her years memorizing chants and hymns and the sort of silly little songs the calpulli teachers sang to impress long lists on young orlans’ memories. Yet something in it tugged at her memory, striking chords that had no place in present-day Citlatl but somehow sounded of everything the city was made of. There were gaps in the scales, notes skipped over as if the song leapt past them in its rush to the heavens, to the Beyond, to grasp at...what? Hope. Safety. Faith. Aspiration. It was, she thought, like the Haven itself, converted to pentatonic form.

And it clearly tugged even more at Lenneth’s memory. The elf looked up, again with that odd half-smile, as the cradle’s rocking slowed and the music faded. “Tallan,” she breathed. “His cradle. His tower.”

They stood staring until Aloth made a sound half-laugh, half-choke. “Tallan was...Glynis’ baby?” he guessed. Lottie wondered why he went so pale at the idea. Glynis had a baby? She looked again at the cradle, with its intricate carvings -- the runes there, she thought: were they the same as the name on the tower’s door? -- and the last notes of the music slowly, gently striking the air. She thought of the runes likewise carved on the door, the patterns etched alongside veins of adra in the hidden door panels, the arches carved in the stone base of the machine hidden a floor above them...the stonemason’s tools she and Anselm had found, forgotten in a corner in the rooms turned to storage below. Ticatl’s work?

“He lived,” Lenneth was saying, as she stepped back from the cradle with a nod. “Glynis’ baby lived.” She grinned over her shoulder at them. “And lived well, I’ll bet. Got a tower named after him and everything.”

“With a magic cradle,” Audie added, giving the thing another gentle push so that the music chimed again.

“Not exactly magic,” Lenneth said. “Clever design, though. It’s like...a music box, sort of. Well,” she frowned, “I think so. Just going by how it seems to work, the tinny sound of it. Moving the cradle triggers something inside to strike these little metal fringe thingies, called a comb, and they give off the sound…” She shrugged. “Dad made music boxes, sometimes. Mabye Tallan’s dad did, too.”

Audie nodded. “Craftsmanship like that is its own kind of magic.”

Lenneth smiled. “I’m getting the impression Glynis would have agreed.”

“Speaking of craftsmanship...and, as seems likely, Ticatl’s craftsmanship,” Anselm spoke up, “perhaps we should move on to the upper chamber.”

“Yes!” Lottie clapped her hands. “If you think that cradle is amazing, wait until you see the _Haven._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and they will see the Haven! In the next chapter! ;-D This one was getting long enough...


	38. Reset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Always bring a Watcher to operate your magical city-wide shields.

The others were learning to recognize the sigils that marked one of the hidden doors. Audie got there first and had the panel open -- still as responsive to her touch as to Lottie’s -- by the time the rest of them caught up. Lottie once more reined in her urge to test other palms to that sigil, to see who else could open the door. There was a time for thorough data collection, but while she stood pondering the workings -- and intention -- of the sigils, the others were seeing the machine beyond that door for the first time. She glanced away from the door panel to see the same wide eyes and gaping mouths that no doubt had been her first reaction, and Anselm’s, when they discovered this room. Now she was grinning ear to ear as she watched the rest of them take the same careful steps across the dusty mosaic and circle the machine, practically in the tracks she and Anselm and the guard had left earlier.

Anselm lingered at the door with her, likewise watching the others with a slight smile. “About time we closed this case,” he murmured.

Lottie turned to him, eyes wide in surprise. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about it being...over, just like that.” A wave of something like regret struck her. Was it always that way, closing a case?

“My directive from the mayor,” said Anselm, “is to gain control of the Haven, for use in the city’s defenses according to our true needs, not...at random, as it has been thus far; or, if that proves impossible, to neutralize it.” He glanced at her with a smirk. “Such a shame that, if it takes a Watcher like Violet to work the controls, we’ll probably have to neutralize it anyway. Can’t be tying her to the city, or its defenses to her, when she must eventually return to Caed Nua.”

“Oh,” Lottie said again. She glanced back at the towering device with the pillar of adra at its core, with its graceful spires surrounding it like a crown, and the ring of copper still slowly and inexplicably turning around the domed growth of adra at the top. She noted now what had hardly registered in her excitement when they first found the device: the adra column gave off a faint glow, more than just a reflection of the crystal-and-adra lights set in the walls of the chamber, and brightest near that rotating ring. The runes etched into the components of the machine mocked her, no words she yet recognized, yet drew her all the same. “Let’s...not neutralize it _too_ much,” she said, staring as if to fix the graceful lines and mellow lights of the machine in her memory, just in case their efforts to turn it off should -- inadvertently, of course -- leave it in ruins somehow.

Anselm grinned, apparently knowing her mind even when he _wasn’t_ , technically, reading it. “Because it’s pretty?”

“It _is_ beautiful,” she confirmed, or corrected; “but also purposeful. They were protecting the city. I still want to find out how it got turned on, all these years later, because maybe whoever did that meant to use it maliciously; but the thing itself...even if it’s not completely harmless, it’s not the enemy. We could learn so much from it.”

He watched a moment longer as the others inspected the machine. Then he nodded once, slowly. “Maybe we can. And, to be fair, you’re right -- we can’t really close the case, not entirely, until we know why and how it was activated. Especially if it required skills like Violet’s to do so.” To Lottie’s surprise, he sounded almost relieved, though a moment ago he had seemed pleased to have reached the end. She was relieved herself, thinking of all the books in the archive she had yet to scour for clues. Thinking of the thrill of debating theories with Anselm as they sat together in his office, attacking the mystery from opposite ends and somehow meeting in the middle and finding the truth there. Thinking of his smiles, hidden less and less carefully as this investigation went on, when she shared the random but fascinating tidbits she found in those books.

Across the room, Violet called them over. They gathered with the rest of the group at a panel of the machine that looked no different than any other part of it, but Violet had apparently worked out that this was where she would be able to operate it.

Lottie pressed as close to her as she dared. “Do you know how it works?”

Violet laughed. “I have a guess where to begin, that’s all. It’s not quite like the soul-gathering machines I’ve dealt with before. Not much of a control panel...but at least I think I can operate it without needing a command word like the one in Sun in Shadow.” She glanced around at each of them. “I may be...preoccupied. Like Watching souls. You’ve got my back?”

Edér, who was in fact still hovering at her back, laid a hand on her shoulder. “Always.” Violet looked up at him, fur ruffling when he winked, then she smiled and turned back to the machine.

“Here goes, then.” She laid her hands on two sigils at the edge of the panel, and with a faint click like that of the door panels, the machine made room for her -- something in the panel shifted and fanned out till Violet was standing before a little hollow in the ring. “Hm,” she murmured, stepped closer to the machine, perused the sigils for a moment, took a deep breath, leaned in and laid her hands to the panel again, closed her eyes, and --

For a minute the chamber was still. The copper ring on the machine kept turning around the adra dome, its light remained steady, and Violet stood with her hands pressed to the panel while the others stood as still and quiet as they could around her. After the first minute, there were glances around, then stifled coughs as the dust in the room got to some of them, but still Violet stood like a statue at the machine. At least there was no danger from without, Lottie thought: or if there were, the guard would give them warning. But as the minutes stretched on, danger from _within_ was a growing concern. What would they do if Violet got lost, somehow, in wherever the machine was taking her? If it was too much for one Watcher to wield all the essence that the Haven had been collecting?

Then again, Lottie had heard Violet’s stories of the souls she’d had to direct from the machine in Sun in Shadow. What was one city’s essence-shield, all those fragments gathered from the air, compared to a whole country’s lost babies over a generation?

Just as she was beginning to hope, all the same, that Edér and Aloth had a good idea of when to shake Violet out of a trance like this, the sounds of the chamber shifted. With a metallic whirr, the rotating copper ring slowed: barely a noticeable change at first, but gradually it was clear that its orbit was losing speed. Then the light of the adra shifted too, brightening suddenly. Brighter and brighter it glowed, the greenish adra-light taking on pinkish edges like the swirls of essence in the Haven itself. _Too_ bright -- everyone squinting against the light suddenly too strong for this hidden chamber, casting strange shadows and ghostly highlights across their faces -- and it turned out _that_ was Edér’s cue, or just too much for his patience, perhaps. He shouted Violet’s name, squeezing her shoulders tighter. When she didn’t respond, Lottie saw his jaw set as he looked between her and the machine -- well, squinted at the machine, its light now too intense for anyone to get a clear look at the device itself. She could guess at his dilemma, for she was thinking the same thing: If Violet didn’t come out of this trance herself, could they safely snap her out of it? What if that would leave her mind trapped in it somehow? But what if she was stuck in there and couldn’t break contact herself without their intervention?

Of course, if _something_ didn’t change soon, it looked like they might be neutralizing the machine after all, and possibly themselves along with it, by action _or_ inaction.

Edér looked all set to initiate that change, leaning down to grab Violet by the waist, ready to pull her away from the machine in hopes that would be _to safety._ But before that could happen, the essence-light flaring from the adra pulsed once, twice, a third time, growing stronger with each beat and then yielding somewhat before flaring up even brighter, a miniature sun in VIolet’s grasp, unless it was she who was in its grasp. Then one last flare, too much for kith to bear. It was all wrong somehow -- an explosion, but too silent for that; a silence that devoured ambient sound and overwhelmed the senses, until it faded and the only sound was the whine and clatter of the machine’s components still slowing and then finally crashing to a stop as a wave of force overtook them all.

When she dared to open her eyes moments later, Lottie was looking up at the thing from the floor, and the room’s light had grown dim, reduced to the steady illumination from the wall settings as the adra column fell dark. The not-really-an-explosion blast of its light -- its essence -- had bowled them all over, she realized as she looked around. Everyone was slowly stirring, pulling themselves upright once more. She looked towards the control panel -- no longer that hollow where Violet had stood to operate it, the surface had resumed its even, cylindrical shape all around -- and then away from it to find Violet pillowed against Edér’s flank where they had both fallen in the blast. To Lottie’s great relief, her sister blinked up at the machine, sat up slowly, and said, “Well. I think I figured it out.”

Lottie scrambled to her feet and hurried over to her. “What happened? You were in there _forever!_ How does it work?”

“Are you all right?” Audie added, retrieving Violet’s crutch as Edér helped her to stand.

“That too!” Lottie said. “We thought -- well, it was so long and you weren’t even moving…”

“She does that a lot,” Edér reminded them.

“Though Yolotli is right,” Aloth added. “This seemed far longer than most such occasions. Even in Sun in Shadow, it seemed to happen in an instant.”

Violet gave a diffident shrug. “I knew how that one worked -- at least a little, thanks to Thaos’ memories. I had to get my bearings with this one.”

Lenneth frowned, trailing a finger along the edge of the machine’s stone base. “Glynis must have known exactly how it worked. I’m sorry she hasn’t been any help with it.”

Violet gripped her crutch tighter, with a look towards the elf that suggested only the broken ankle was keeping her from running over to offer a hug along with her words. “Not all Awakened memories are happy ones, Lenneth. Especially the ones that prompt an Awakening. Something about the Haven seems painful for Glynis to revisit.”

Lenneth looked up at the adra column. Finally she nodded. “Maybe it’ll help that the Haven is off now.” She glanced back at Violet. “You did turn it off, right? We just saw this weird flash of light and when it was over, the machine had stopped moving, which _seems_ like _off_ but…”

“I think so,” said Violet. She brightened, turning around carefully. “Anselm? Lottie? You said the top of the tower is open to the sky…”

Anselm grinned, stepping away from the side of the machine, where he’d been leaning while they all collected themselves. “With an excellent view of the city around us. Shall we go see what’s become of the Haven?”

Slowly, shaking off the dust of centuries and stretching out muscles aching with the tense minutes of watching Violet from the outside of her task or sore from being knocked off their feet as she emerged, they made their way up to the top of the tower. And, as one, breathed deep in relief. The sun shone high over the city, steady in its path to the horizon. No arcane light detracted from the natural beauty of the moment. No Haven swirled overhead. It was a perfectly normal afternoon -- all the more _perfect_ for its _normality._

Lottie beamed at Violet. “You did it!”

“Apparently so,” Violet said, wandering over to lean against the railing and peer down at the city. “Hopefully without...side effects.”

Audie’s gaze fixed on her. “Side effects?”

“All that essence,” Violet explained. “It had to go somewhere. There were...options, when I was in contact with the machine, but not much context. I had this...this _mass_ of power at my disposal, gathered from the ambient essence of the whole city, and I think if I exerted my will I could have turned it to _any_ purpose, really.”

“Yeah,” Lenneth said. “I think you could. That trial today -- the one I saw in Glynis’ memories -- the mayor was on trial for misusing the Haven. Seems he sneaked in here and adjusted it to collect more essence than necessary. Then he used that essence for his own purposes. At least, the charges were something to do with killing a rival to get his land, and causing the previous mayor to Awaken so he could take his job. That’s a _lot_ of power at someone’s disposal. The Haven’s so much more than just a shield.” She turned wide eyes on Violet again. “What _did_ you do with it, Vi?”

“Returned it to the city,” Violet said, looking out over the railing again. “To the citizens, or to the ambient essence it was drawn from in the first place. At least, I hope that’s how it worked out.”

“Got a powerful dose of it in the control room ourselves,” Edér pointed out with a wry chuckle.

Lottie joined Violet in peering over the railing. “Because it was the epicenter, maybe? Or an overflow of essence moving through the control panel when it was shut down? If...that has anything to do with how it actually works,” she laughed. “I wonder if it hit the rest of the city with as much force as it did us.” She strained to see anyone below, walking around the city streets or the ixtapaluca grounds, but from the tower’s height, she could see no one. Of course, maybe they’d all been driven inside in yet another panic. Gar would be _thrilled_ \-- just when he’d gotten people to go about their business as usual again.

“I hope not,” Violet said. “At any rate, at least it’s over now.”

“Back to normal,” Audie said, but she sounded dubious.

“In time,” Anselm said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The Haven no longer threatens, but we still don’t know who turned it on. Or why. Or,” his expression hardened as he glanced toward the stairs, “how they got into a tower so securely locked, _and_ past a hidden door that won’t open for just anyone.”

“Speaking of which!” Lottie hastened to interject.

Anselm was grinning as soon as she spoke up. “I believe Lottie has some _tests_ in mind for those doors.”


	39. Entry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Haven is off, but mysteries still abound in Teir Tallan and Citlatl.

Tests confirmed Lottie’s suspicions. One after another, they placed palms to sigils on the Haven control room’s door. As swiftly as it had opened for Lottie, so too it did for her sisters and brother. Slower for Anselm, just as she’d seen before when he’d tried the doors on the floors below. Not at all for Aloth, or Edér, or Lenneth.

“It responds to orlans only?” Aloth theorized.

Lottie shook her head. “The guard couldn’t get it to work at all.” She chewed at her braid-end, pondering the implications of her conclusion before she gave it voice. “It seems to respond to  _ Itzlis. _ ”

“But Anselm --” Lenneth began.

“Is a relative, though distant,” Anselm himself explained, arms crossed, peering up at crystal-in-adra light fixtures that still shone in the control room, though the machine had gone still.

“Our clans,” Violet added, “have a habit of intermarrying. Anselm’s -- what was it, great-grandfather? -- was an Itzli.” Anselm shrugged in a vague confirmation.

“It  _ could _ be some other factor,” Lottie allowed, now tugging at the braid. “We’d need a larger test sample to confirm --”

“Later,” Anselm said, cutting her off with a sharp glance. “Let us bear in mind that  _ someone _ who shares that factor, whatever it is, with you four,” he nodded from one Itzli to the next, “and to a lesser extent, with me, must have opened this door before us and set that machine in action. Even though the tower itself is kept locked and relegated to storage, its true purpose presumably lost to history.”

“Right, right,” she sighed. And then stared back at him, wide-eyed. “But that means...someone in the  _ family _ might have activated the Haven?”

“It could be some other factor,” he quietly echoed her own words. “Still, it does rather throw suspicion on the clan as a whole.  _ And _ related clans,” he added, slapping his own palm to the closing sigil. They all watched as the door sluggishly swung back into the wall at this reminder. “That’s not a terrible thing,” Anselm said. “It gives us a place to begin the search. Better than we had when the Haven first launched, certainly.”

“Much as we may not like what we find,” Audie grimaced.

“Still,” he said, “it means we might finally  _ find _ something. But it also means we can’t yet be parading all our kinfolk through this tower to test your theory, Lottie, I’m afraid. Perhaps later, when we have more certain suspects, we’ll have to bring them here and confirm that those individuals could have accessed this room. But for now, best to keep it as secret as we can while the investigation continues. To that end…” He glanced around and beckoned to Xipil, quietly watching everything unfold, his fingers buried in Yaotl’s fur. “You can move quietly and be sure you’re not followed, yes?” Xipil nodded, eyes wide at being suddenly the center of attention. “Will you take a message to the Watch for me, then? I want some of my agents guarding the tower door before all of us leave this place. For what it’s worth,” he sighed. “Word may have spread while we were gone, after all. The guard may have talked, or our first visit here been noticed. After all, whoever activated the Haven would have to unlock the tower entrance before they could open the secret doors. Someone on the ixtapaluca staff, perhaps.”

“Who very likely would have seen us coming and going,” Lottie realized.

“And they surely saw us this time -- all eight of us! As did a number of other staff on our way in. I doubt we can keep the hidden rooms secret much longer. But at least we can keep watch for anyone coming back to turn the Haven on again. Whatever their reason for activating it, I would presume that we’ve interrupted their plans by turning it off.”

“What if there’s some other way into the tower?” it occurred to her with a sinking feeling. “Bypassing the main door with its locks and all.”

“If there is some other entrance,” Aloth put in, “it wouldn’t surprise me if the Leaden Key was aware of it. They might yet be responsible for activating the Haven.”

Anselm frowned. “They’d still have to get through the hidden door to the machine. But that does expand the suspect list somewhat, if they could get into the tower without access to the rest of the ixtapaluca.” He turned again to Xipil, removing one of his rings and holding it out to him. “Show that to Tecuatl, my second-in-command, and he’ll know you bear my orders. Oh, and take this --” He rummaged in a vest pocket and extracted a neatly folded sheet of paper. “Garivald’s letter granting us entry to the palace, so you can get back in with my men. We’ll need shifts of watchmen guarding the tower door as well as the control room itself. Not overtly -- I want them  _ watching _ for anyone who tries to enter, not barring access so obviously that the guilty parties know better than to approach. If we’re lucky, we can catch whoever shows up to turn the Haven on again and take them in for questioning. Tell Tecuatl all that; he’ll work out who’s best to send. Then the tricky part -- can you make sure  _ they’re _ not followed, either, coming back here?” 

Xipil looked uncertain, but after only a moment’s thought, and a look exchanged with his hound, he nodded and set out on his errand, slipping silently down the stairs. 

In Xipil’s absence, the others were searching the tower for the theorized second entrance when Lottie heard a commotion down on the first floor. She rushed down from the second-floor storage room to see the guard, still alert at the locked door, saying, “--sorry, but I have my orders.”

“Can’t you at least go and find my children to confirm?” a voice muffled by Ticatl’s well-fitted stonework came through the door. “I’m to meet them here -- my daughters and son.”

“Papa!” Lottie shouted, racing to the door even as the guard stolidly returned, “If you insist on interfering, Councillor Itzli, I must report it to the Investigator, sir.”

“Well, I wish you would!” Chimalli’s retort probably rang with indignation, but the door still muffled it mostly. 

Lottie grabbed the guard’s arm and said, “It’s all right. You can let him in.” But the man barely looked at her, repeating, “I have my orders.”

“Oh. That.” She sighed, and turned to shout at the door. “Just a moment, Papa. Anselm left him on alert here. I’ll be right back!”

She found Anselm already on his way down the stairs, drawn by the commotion -- as were Audie and Lenneth, emerging from the first-floor room with the oven. He stopped short when he saw the guard still on alert as they had left him. “Hm,” he said with a smirk and a lift of his eyebrow. “Would have thought that had worn off by now.”

“Papa wants in,” Lottie explained, tugging him to the door.

Chimalli’s voice came faintly through in confirmation. “Lottie? Is that you?”

Anselm nodded and turned to the guard. In a moment, the man stepped back, blinking, from his post and squinted at Anselm as if trying to focus.

“Well done,” Anselm said with a polite smile. “You can let the Councillor in now. We’re finished -- well, mostly finished -- upstairs. Just keep an eye out for anyone else showing up at the door, and don’t let them in unless one of us approves it. Oh, except Xipil, when he comes back, of course.” Then he frowned, looked around, and back at the guard. “You...did let Xipil out a moment ago, I take it? Young man with a hound?”

“Ay, sir,” the guard nodded, looking up from the door as he finished unlocking it. “You...didn’t say not to? He didn’t seem set on...er...interfering, since he meant to leave…and he came in with you, so I supposed...”  He swung the door open to reveal Chimalli tugging at his beard as he did when his patience -- well honed after raising thirteen children -- was growing thin. Lottie wondered just how long he’d tried to get the guard to cooperate before those inside the tower realized it.

Anselm’s polite smile returned as he clapped the guard on the shoulder. “Correctly supposed. He’ll be back shortly with reinforcements. If you could send them on up as soon as they get here…”

The guard nodded, straightening and looking just a bit abashed as Chimalli stepped inside, eyeing him coldly.

“Come on, Papa,” Lottie said, taking his arm and steering him toward the stairs. “Let’s talk upstairs. I want you to see those hidden doors.”  _ And to see if you, too, can open them, _ she thought.

“Have you seen the sky?” Audie grinned as she and Lenneth joined the group. “In, oh, the last hour or so?”

Chimalli fell in step with them on the stairs. “No, I’ve been in the records hall since last I saw you. And then came straight to this tower, for all the good that did me.” He glanced back at Lottie. “Have you done something with that machine you spoke of?”

“Yes, Papa!” Lottie beamed. “Maybe you should see  _ that _ before the hidden rooms. Since it’s been days since you could!”

Audie chuckled and beckoned. “To the top of the tower, then!” She hurried ahead with Lenneth close behind. Chimalli followed, shaking his head a moment but soon gaining on them, spry despite his years and dignity.

As they more slowly made their way up the stairs, Lottie leaned close to Anselm and whispered, “The guard.”

“Mm-hm?” he murmured back. 

“Does he  _ know _ he was charmed? You...canceled that, didn’t you, so he could open the door?”

His eyes flicked briefly to her before he nodded. “The compulsion that specifically reinforced my orders earlier, at least.”

“But he still seems happy to take your orders,” she observed. “So he doesn’t know it was a compulsion?”

“I...may have tampered with his loyalties a bit,” Anselm admitted, tugging at the fringed hem of his sleeve. “Inserting myself as...one of the superiors to whom he answers.” His ears lowered as he glanced to her again. “He can report to his actual superiors later, but the less that word of this tower spreads for now, the better. And we’ll need his cooperation when my watchmen get here.”

“Oh.” She watched their feet for a few more steps up the tower, then looked back to him. “But that’s not permanent?”

“It should last long enough for our purposes. And I’ll restore him to normal as soon as I can, if it hasn’t worn off by then,” he promised, and she thought the look he aimed at her then seemed...worried? Nervous? But why? He seemed to have things under control, and the guard would surely understand the need for secrecy until they knew for sure that the Haven, too, was under control.

Except of course, she realized, that Anselm hadn’t given him the chance to understand anything, just the compulsion to obey. She’d seen him turn enemies in battle to their side, but...that was different, perhaps, protecting one another in the heat of combat. Charmed enemies usually ended up dead soon after those charms wore off, anyway, so she’d never really considered the consequences of Anselm’s talents. 

The way Anselm was avoiding her eyes now...she guessed, suddenly, that  _ he _ had considered it. She wondered how often he’d had to tamper with minds outside of combat, in his line of work, charming a criminal trying to escape, or even a supposed ally like their guard friend downstairs. She wondered how often that had  _ not  _ gone as planned. 

They’d just have to make sure it went to plan, this time. 

* * *

“ _ That, _ ” Lottie informed her father, when they had finished admiring the Havenless afternoon sky and wandered back down to the control room door, “is the sigil for  _ open. _ ”

“Ah,” he said, adjusting his glasses and leaning closer to peer at it. “Very artfully incorporated with the decorations on the whole, isn’t it?”

“And  _ that _ one,” she added, adjusting where she pointed, “is the one for  _ close. _ See how it’s sort of a reverse of the first one?”

“Well, I suppose that makes sense,” he murmured. “So this whole panel turns into a door, is that it?”

“It does!” she confirmed, with a bright smile. “You just have to touch --” she reached for her father’s hand, and then glanced to Anselm. “Is it all right if he…?”

Anselm spread his hands. “Lottie, he already knows what’s here. We told him the whole story.” Crossing his arms, he clarified, “I just don’t want to parade the whole clan through here while the investigation’s still going on. But I think your father can be trusted not to gossip.” He arched an eyebrow at the elder Itzli. “Right?”

Chimalli arched an eyebrow right back. “You do realize the whole situation must come to the tlatoani’s attention eventually. Not just for the city’s safety, but considering that we  _ are  _ \--” he gestured to the tower walls around them -- “in his own house.”

“Of course,” Anselm allowed. “I would by no means wish to interfere with council business, sir. But we’re still trying to catch whoever turned the Haven on. And find out  _ why. _ ” He shrugged. “And, of course, keep it from happening again with no more warning than the last time.”

“Well,” Chimalli chuckled, “I would by no means interfere with  _ that. _ Unless the tlatoani’s intervention becomes necessary, he will learn of all that has transpired in Citlatl when the transpiring’s done.”

Anselm nodded. Lottie tugged her father closer to the door. “Okay then! Place your hand there, on the  _ open _ sigil, Papa.”

He did so, and the door’s response was as rapid as for any of his offspring. Lottie triumphantly added this to her data collection while her father stood blinking at the machine inside.

Audie grinned at her and raised a hand, drawing in the air -- a tally mark. “One more Itzli, eh?”

“Now we just have to figure out  _ why _ it runs in the family!” Lottie said. “Or...well, that’s still only five of us confirmed. I could be wrong.”

“You probably aren’t,” Audie said. And added, with a wink, “I don’t suppose our clan name translates to something like  _ door _ or  _ key _ or whatever in one of your ancient dialects?”

While Lottie was pondering this -- or more accurately, pondering why she had never before thought to dig into the clan’s history from an etymological perspective -- Chimalli had wandered closer to the machine, while Anselm explained how Violet had turned it off. “I wonder,” her father said as the tale concluded, “how this thing’s existence could have been so forgotten. As long as I’ve worked in the palace, I never heard wind of it. Nor found any mention of it in the records hall today, although, of course, that was a hasty search. But the records keeper -- oh, don’t worry, my boy,  _ I _ told her nothing of what you’d found in here, I only asked for history of the ixtapaluca’s renovations and expansions, particularly regarding its many towers. I didn’t even let on  _ which _ tower we were interested in, I’ll have you know. Had to sit through some farfetched tale about the eastern tower being haunted after one tlatoani’s daughter threw herself from its parapet. But she referred to this one only as a storage tower herself.”

“Did she find  _ something _ in the records, though?” Lottie asked, leaning through the doorway.

“Oh, yes. I brought you some things to add to your research, my dear,” Chimalli winked at her, returning from the machine and handing over a pair of thin volumes, which Lottie eagerly accepted. 

She held them up to the eerie crystal-light, trying to make out words on their covers. “Did you read them yet? Do you know the tower’s history?”

“I hadn’t time. So I shall leave that to you. Or I could entertain your mother with my own reading of them, but…” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy them more than she would.”

Lottie nodded, twisting a braid. “Maybe I’ll...come and read them to you both?”

“Oh, she would enjoy that most of all.”

**Author's Note:**

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